Coming Home
by Ivy Rangee
Summary: Feeling like an outsider within his own family, Detective Soichiro Arima broods on old wounds. Chapter Six: Benzaiten's Alchemy- Soichiro makes a pact with his dark twin. Based on the Arima arc and epilog volume of the manga - volumes 13-21 .
1. A Prayer to Kannon

**Coming Home  
**by Ivy Rangee

**Chapter One: A Prayer to Kannon**

Pressed for time, Detective Soichiro Arima dashed through the sleek, sliding glass doors of the ultra modern apartment building where he and his family made their home. Striding across the elegant lobby in full dress uniform, the tall, handsome police officer thumbed through the contact index of his cell phone, searching for his wife's office number. When he found the entry, he dialed her, and then, having reached the elevator, he punched the up button.

"Hello, Doctor Yukino Arima's office," came the pleasant, professional voice of the office manager, Ms. Juiz Takizawa. "How may we be of service?"

"Good morning, Ms. Takizawa, may I speak with the doctor?" asked Soichiro, as the elevator's stainless steel doors glided open. The only passenger, Soichiro entered the elevator post-haste, and then quickly pressed the button for the sixth floor, sending the doors sliding in the opposite direction.

"Just a moment, Detective Arima, I'll see if the doctor is available," said the office manager before placing him on hold.

With a diabolical grin, Soichiro celebrated his luck. He'd gotten a break; usually the apartment building's elevators were locals. But a hand pushed its way through the not-quite-closed doors, forcing them apart; he'd rejoiced too soon. With a growl he glared at the hand's chubby five digits, considering the consequences of breaking one; fortunately for the intended victim, he'd gained enough control over his more negative impulses to nix such an action. However, he could not stop a deep scowl from advancing across his usually passive face as eight people piled into the tiny space. By the time the elevator finally ascended the floor number on every button shone brightly. Soichiro stared at his shinny black dress shoes, concealing his irritation; after all, these people were his neighbors.

"I must apologize; Doctor Arima is still in surgery, Detective Arima," said Ms. Takizawa, coming back on the line.

"But this is urgent," whispered the rushed police officer, looking up to find everyone glaring at him for the sin of talking on the phone in a crowded elevator. Feeling guilty, he pointed to his badge; clearly a misrepresentation of the situation, but in a way it was true. He was due at the promotion ceremony for his boss, Superintendent Ogami, where he was to give testimony regarding the man's prowess.

"I could get a message to her," offered Ms. Takizawa.

"Couldn't you connect me to the surgery theater?" whispered Soichiro as everyone went back to their own business.

"Excuse me, Detective?"

"I must speak with her," demanded Soichiro, just as the bell dinged for the second floor. "It's of the utmost importance."

"If it's that urgent I could relay your message to her and wait for her answer."

As the door slid shut, Soichiro swore under his breath. Everyone would know the truth. He could not function without Yukino. He shrugged his shoulders; ah, well, anyone who knew them for more than an hour understood that.

"Please ask her where my winter Pershing cap might be?" In the elevator, all eyes turned to him, and little, old Mrs. Yamaguchi shook her head with a loud tsk tsk. He watched his credibility crumble.

"Of course, Detective Arima," said Ms. Takizawa, as the doors slid open for the third floor.

Soichiro could hear the smirk in her words, and he roiled at her temerity. "Thank you, Ms. Takizawa," he replied through gritted teeth.

As several passengers piled off on the fourth floor, Ms. Takizawa placed him on hold once more where he remained for several minutes listening to Yukino's Muzak channel which played orchestral arrangements of Yin Yang's greatest hits as arranged by his father, Reiji Arima. It was only as Soichiro fumbled with his keys while making his way down the sixth floor corridor that Ms. Takizawa returned.

"Master bedroom closet, top shelf on the left, black hat box, labeled Soichi-chan's Winter Pershing."

"Thank you, Ms. Takizawa, and thank Doctor Arima for me. Good day." Irritated, he hung up before the woman could reply. He'd heard the sarcasm in her voice; she thought him a loser - a detective who couldn't even find his own cap. He would mention the woman's disrespectful tone to his wife; on the other hand maybe not, Yukino would only instruct him to lighten up. With relief he checked his watch; he would make the ceremony in plenty time if he didn't dawdle.

Upon entering the master bedroom his mood lightened, although he still wondered at his absentmindedness – forgetting his cap on a day when dress uniform was prescribed. He smiled at the bed, thinking how much he looked forward to coming home at night. In his thirties, he'd finally achieved that mature sexiness Yukino swooned over. She wanted to be with him all the time, and, to that end in typical Yukino fashion, she had done a great deal of research into the erotic arts. He felt a surge of heat just thinking about her tricks. Was there a luckier man on earth than he?

Smiling with pleasure as his beloved wife danced naked in his thoughts, he slid open the closet door and scanned the top shelf. There it was, a black hat box with his name on it, just as Yukinon had said. Gods, she was good! And in the middle of surgery, no less. As he pulled the hat box down three small rectangular boxes, resting on top, slid precariously to the edge, almost falling to the floor before he managed to balance the hat box. Curious, he carried everything to the bed where he sat down to investigate. One box was pink and the other two were blue. They were decorated with cute little stuffed animals, and each had a summer scene painted on its lid.

Each of the small, rectangular boxes bore the name and birth date of one of his three children in beautiful, hand-painted calligraphy. He opened the pink one which belonged to his eldest, Sakura Arima, now fifteen. Inside, neatly folded pink tissue paper with white hearts protected the contents. Deeply moved by the devotion, care and affection this implied, he pulled the paper aside to find Sakura's childhood things - the outfit she wore home from the hospital, her first pair of shoes, her teething rattle, and a tiny, soft, fluffy, wool cap hand knit by his mother, Shizuni. Soichiro carefully lifted these things from the box to find a jeweler's bracelet box with his daughter's baby teeth arranged neatly on soft cotton gauze inside. Beneath this lay a braid of Sakura's fine, silky, black baby hair twisted into a neat circle and fastened with a butterfly pin.

With sentimental tears coursing down his cheeks, he remembered the childhood of his beautiful baby girl, conceived when he had been at his most unbalanced. With a deep breath he smiled, pushing his tears aside, and putting her things away, returning everything to its original state. Unable to restrain himself, though the hour grew late, he searched through the boxes of his fourteen year old twin sons, Suo and Ai. Each box showed the same loving hand – Yukino's hand.

What a wonderful mother; his children were so lucky – at least when it came to Yukino. As a father Soichiro was a slacker; it had never occurred to him to prepare such treasure boxes. Out of nowhere a surge of jealousy overwhelmed him; its intensity struck him with a wave of nausea, forcing him to lie down. He felt his heart tear between his selfish envy and his happiness for his children. No one had ever prepared such a box for him. His birthmother, Ryoko, had used him as a way to extort money from his birthfather, Reiji Arima, even as she refused to let Reiji see his son. She had neglected and beaten him, until, finally, in his third year she had deserted him as he lie sick and dying with fever in the small, squalid apartment they shared. If Reiji had not hired a private detective to find his son, Soichiro would have died, unconscious in the snow after he'd fallen down the stairs while trying to follow Ryoko, promising her that this time he'd be a good boy. Just before she left she'd reached down to where he lay, putting her hand to his nose to see if he were breathing. His own mother wished him dead; that, more than any of her other misdeeds, had wounded him beyond repair.

Soichiro stared at the scar on his left hand; the place where he had pierced himself wishing to release the blessed endorphins that would bring him relief from the intensity of his misery. Once again he wept, but this time his tears fell over the anguish of events which can never be changed. What was it like to be loved so deeply by the woman who bore you? - A woman, who cherished your soft, silky, fine baby hair and kept your pearly white baby teeth wrapped like precious jewels. He would never understand how that felt, but he found the grace to thank earth and heaven his children knew that loving, unconditional embrace. As he stared at the ceiling, he fell into dark habitual musings; why had been born to such a woman? Was it his karma? Had he done something to deserve it? These thoughts always made him sick with a kind of anxious emptiness for they led to only one conclusion; in some previous life he had tormented and neglected a helpless child.

Forcing his body upright, Soichiro put his hands together and whispered, "I place my trust in Bodhisattva Kannon." As he pronounced the last syllable his phone rang.

"Soichiro? Did you find it?" asked his wife.

"Yukino," said Soichiro, after clearing his throat.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You're lying."

"My cap was right where you said it would be. You're amazing."

"Thanks, but you're deflecting."

Shit! Ever since Yukino had done a rotation in psychiatry during medical school it had been impossible to put anything past her. She'd even forced him into years of therapy, which he had resisted at first, but, in the end, his doctor had been a most interesting man who had helped Soichiro immensely.

"Soichiro?"

"I'm due at Superintendent Ogami's promotion ceremony," said Soichiro. "Can we talk about it tonight?"

"You always say that, but then Asapin shows up and the kids need your help with schoolwork…"

"You know I have no problem kicking Asapin out."

Yukino laughed. "True enough. Alright, tonight – no excuses."

"Yukino …"

"What?"

"Thank you …"

"For what?"

"Being such a good mother."

"Soichiro, I love you."

"Ditto."

"Ditto? Is that the best you can do?"

"Wait until tonight. I'll demonstrate how much I love you in a way you will never forget."

"Mmm … you really have matured quite nicely."

"Duty calls."

"Same here, except for me it's a tummy tuck."

"See you tonight."

"Bye."

Soichiro stared at the phone. He was late, but he took a moment to wash his face afterward setting his expression to that of a stern, serious police officer. As he stared into the mirror he mouthed the word monster, and then made his way back to the bedroom where he grabbed the three boxes, wondering what the hell he was doing. Maybe he'd better call his therapist, Doctor Kawai.

As Soichiro slid into the borrowed police vehicle, memories of a particularly bad day with his mother flooded his mind. Pushing them down, he placed the three boxes in his brief case and drove to the testimonial for his boss. While waiting at a stoplight, he put his phone on speaker and called Doctor Kawai's office.

"Hello, Doctors' Services, may I help you?" said an exceedingly saccharine voice.

"Is Doctor Kawai available?" asked Soichiro, his hand shaking.

"He's at a symposium in Switzerland, but Doctor Taira is on call."

"When will Doctor Kawai be back?"

"Next week."

"I'll call back then."

"Why don't you leave a message? He checks in daily; I can tell him you called."

"Detective Soichiro Arima. He has my number."

"Of course, I'll give him the information. Have a good day."

"… uh … Thank you."

Hanging up, Soichiro laughed. Why would the woman have said have a good day? Seriously, he was calling for a psychotherapist for help. The more he thought about it the funnier it seemed. She might as well have said have a good day, you nutter. By the time he reached police headquarters, his laughter had reached cosmic proportions, forcing him to sit in the car until he gained control. As he meditated on a calm, serious attitude, the memories he'd tried to suppress earlier returned. So he gave up and went inside to give his speech – better to laugh inappropriately than relive that torment.

Two hours later Detective Arima sat at his desk doing paper work, having made it through his boss's promotion ceremony without incident. Fortunately, as soon as he took his seat on the dais, he'd entered the moment and enjoyed the party. Compartmentalization, the doctor called it. But now, alone at his desk, those terrible memories danced on the edge of his awareness, waiting to take him to hell.

It had been summer, and his birthmother's expression had so frightened him that little Soichiro peed his pants. She carried scissors in her hand and when she threw them they'd grazed his shoulder. He could see the blood.

"You little bastard, look what you've done!" shouted Ryoko.

"No, Mommy no!" he'd screamed, as she pounced on him.

"You'd better wise up. Cause when your daddy stops paying, you're history. Nobody wants a retard like you."

What happened next was hazy, probably because she'd brought her fist down on his head. Grown-up Soichiro held his head in his hands, fighting tears. How had that little child survived? The next thing he remembered, she was dressing .

"Stop looking at me, you little pervert." She slapped him, and he retreated behind the door. He shivered with fright; he knew by her dress-up clothes she planned to leave him alone in the apartment overnight. He hated that.

"Don't go, Mommy," wept little Soichiro, grabbing her skirt.

"Get away from me," shouted Ryoko, pushing him aside. "And this place better be in order when I get back or you will pay."

With that she disappeared out the door; the boy Soichiro's breath came in short gasps as the intense gravity caused by anxiety dragged him into blind panic. He pushed a chair to the window, and, after climbing it, he caught a glimpse of her as she climbed into a car. When it drove off, he pressed his face to the window to follow it as long as possible. Then he climbed down, dropped to the floor and wept. The next thing he recalled it was late afternoon, he lay on the floor staring at the ceiling as hunger gnawed at him. But his attention was diverted from the desire for food when light from the setting sun poured through the window, casting a shadow of fluttering wings and tiny hanging bells upon the ceiling. Getting to his feet, he climbed back up the chair and looking out the window, he found a hummingbird trying to drink nectar from the neighbor's brightly colored wind chime. He watched the poor bird flit from bell to bell, searching for sustenance from something that could never give it.

"Poor little bird," little Soichiro cried, weeping for the creature.

The little boy was about to climb down from the chair to search for food when he heard laughter. Down the steps in the parking lot below, children played football. Technically, he was not allowed outside when Ryoko was away, but he rarely had the opportunity to spend time with other kids, and the desire to be part of their game pushed fear of his mother aside as he ran down the stairs to join them.

All he could think was '_Oh, boy! Oh boy_,' as he watched them from the sidelines, but when the ball came to him he kicked it back. That's when they noticed him. He'd assumed they be pleased because he'd hit the goal, but instead they pointed at him, taunting him with the words 'dirty monster'. They shouted at him to go away. He'd ruined their ball with his dirty, monster feet.

The child Soichiro hurried up the stairs; wondering if the children spoke truth, he pushed the chair into the bathroom so it faced the mirror. Climbing it, he stared in horror at the creature who gazed back at him. Its lopsided head wore a swollen red bump above the left eye and another on its right cheek; its half-closed swollen right eye had a black bruise around it, and it was filthy. The little boy cried big, round tears that cut gleaming streaks through the dirt that covered his little face.

Soichiro woke suddenly from this memory, quickly scanning the office. Thank goodness, he was alone. Checking the time, he finished his work and picked up the phone.

"Hello, Arima residence," said the warm, welcoming voice of Shizuni Arima, his aunt and mother by adoption.

"Mother."

"Soichiro?"

"Are you busy this afternoon?"

"Nothing I can't change."

"May I see you?"

"Of, course. When?"

"Now," said Soichiro with some urgency.

"Is there something wrong?"

"I want to show you something. It's important."

"I'll start the tea."

"Are you alone?"

"I am."

"Good, this is private." He put down the phone, cleared his desk and signed out for the day. If he rushed he could make the early afternoon train.


	2. Kannon's Gift

**Chapter 2: Kannon's Gift  
**By Ivy Rangee

Wrapped in solitude, Soichiro Arima stared out the window of the afternoon train as it wended its way along the Yamanote line toward the suburbs. Mellow light from the late-autumn sun drew dark shadows on the landscape as a bracing wind tore the vibrant multicolor leaves from the trees, scattering them across the pale blue sky. A bank of clouds closed in from the north, bringing with them the first snow of the season. He loved this time of year; it felt cozy. He tried not to think, but, whenever his vigilance faltered, childhood memories stalked him. He knew he should face them, but, instead, he sought refuge in Kendo's words of purpose.

To mold the mind and body.  
To cultivate a vigorous spirit,  
And through correct and rigid training,  
To strive for improvement in the art of Kendo.  
To hold in esteem human courtesy and honor.  
To associate with others with sincerity.  
And to forever pursue the cultivation of oneself.  
Thus will one be able:  
To love one's country and society;  
To contribute to the development of culture;  
And to promote peace and prosperity among all peoples.

Soichiro still practiced the sword art, and, as an adult, he'd delved into its historical roots in Bushido. The samurai had various schools of swordsmanship from which kendo developed. But all of them emphasized compassion; samurai practiced Buddhism, after all. It had surprised him when he learned how these sentimental warriors would weep over an honorable enemy's death, a child's smile or a beautiful field of flowers. Yet they could be hard as nails in the face of death. His curiosity piqued; he studied. On what was this powerful compassion based? As he read the sutras, he discovered the model for this venerated virtue called loving kindness: the mutual love shared by a mother and her child. And it was said that we have all been each others' mother through over myriad rebirths.

When Soichiro learned this he knew he would never reach the upper levels of Kendo. He would always be a poser, for, at least in this lifetime, he had never experienced this kind of love. For years he had thought all love conditional; as long as he was a good boy, his adopted parents would let him stay. Even after things had changed, and he'd opened up to them, in some deep place he still doubted the truth of it. This was unknown territory for him – a black hole in his heart. Yet he saw Yukino and his children acting this love out before him every day, and, though he coveted it, he understood he would never experience that deep confidence that comes from knowing you are loved just because you are who you are.

Soichiro's thoughts turned to Doctor Kawai. A week before his first visit with the psychoanalyst, the doctor had conducted a telephone consult in which he asked Soichiro about his childhood and then outlined treatment, ordering his patient to keep a dream diary. Soichiro had initially scoffed at this, but, at Yukino's insistence, he followed through with the task. For several nights he dreamed of walking through a house, which, from the outside seemed to be a small cottage, but inside had an endless number of rooms. Some rooms were neat, clean, spacious and well lit, but as he progressed deeper in his exploration, he found dark, windowless, messy rooms, with dusty, strange, cobbled together furniture, peeling wallpaper, and cobwebbed corners. One room had an attractive front, but as he went deeper he came upon chairs and tables from several different eras, as if haphazard accommodations had been made hastily to keep the room balanced. One night he dreamt of a dark, gloomy cellar covered with broken shards of glass and pottery. The sharp, dangerous pieces were embedded in the cement floor and walls so that everywhere he turned the jagged edges cut him; as he gazed at the scene a wall crumbled and light poured in, carrying his children with it. He shouted for them to stay away, but Sakura just smiled at him, climbing over the wall, cutting her hands and feet on the glass as she ran to him.

This nightmare had affected Soichiro so profoundly, that he walked around in a daze for twenty-four hours. But the most insightful dream had come on the night before his first appointment with Doctor Kawai. Grown up Soichiro and Yukino visited the Arima family's vacation house at Tateshina with his adopted parents, Soji and Shizuni. In the dream the four worked together, making raisin walnut bread, but somehow, no matter what they did it failed to reach the correct consistency. After a while, Soji suggested they let it go, but Shizuni defied him, insisting the problem was due to a missing ingredient. She ordered to Soichiro to take Yukino, go to the grocery store and find it. The next day, after Soichiro had described his dreams to Doctor Kawai, the old man laughed.

"What did I say that was so humorous?" bristled Soichiro.

"Nothing," replied the doctor. "Given your circumstances, I didn't expect much, but this is gold."

"My circumstances?"

"Yes, the nature of your experiences with your birthmother. The woman is a monster; is she not?"

"What do you mean by gold?" Soichiro preferred not to go into too much detail regarding his birthmother, Ryoko, with this stranger.

"Well, the missing ingredient dream and the malignant cellar nightmare are clear indicators of the way forward," said the old man, removing his glasses to squint at something unseen.

"How so?"

"You have no idea?" asked the doctor, turning to observe his patient.

"No." Soichiro avoided the man's sharp gaze.

"How did the cellar dream make you feel?"

"Terrified."

"Why?"

"Because Sakura could have been severely injured."

"What about you?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you were already cut and bleeding."

"My condition was of no consequence; only Sakura mattered."

"Now do you have an idea?" pressed Doctor Kawai, leaning back in his chair.

"No." Soichiro frowned at the man.

"That cellar dream is a strong motivator, impelling you toward health because it informed you of something your conscious mind can't see."

"And what is that?" Soichiro asked, skeptically.

"Your preliminary tests show that you're quite intelligent. Can you figure it out?" The doctor leaned forward, watching Soichiro with bright, keen eyes.

"That's why I'm paying you."

"Well then let me earn my keep," laughed the doctor, continuing his careful scrutiny of Soichiro. "The dream metaphor is clear; you do not wish to harm your children, in fact you have a strong desire to protect them. Yet even so, the shadow of your suffering falls upon your children, and they must live in its darkness. Fixing this is your obligation as their father."

"And the other?" asked Soichiro, tearing up for he knew this to be true. He had a dark hole at his center, and his children sensed it. Perhaps they even believed it to be their fault.

"The second dream describes the problem quite clearly. Something is missing inside you; your second mother, Shizuni, charges you to go out into the world and, with the help of your wife, find what has been lost."

"Something is missing?" asked Soichiro, but even as he asked he saw the cleverness of the dream's metaphor.

"Indeed. Tell me, how you feel when you see your wife and children interact?" said the doctor, resting his chin on his tented hands.

"Like an outsider." The harsh truth of this dark answer surprised Soichiro, and he hastened to soften it. "But I …"

"No buts, you spoke from your heart. No doubt as your children matured under the care of a loving mother, you saw something take hold in them that you lack, and at the same time covet to the point of jealousy. This dream points the way forward. This is where we will begin our search for the missing ingredient. Our time draws to a close. Do you have any questions?"

"Yes, Doctor Kawai, you said you didn't expect much from my dream diary. Why?"

Doctor Kawai gazed at him skeptically. "I'll explain another time," he said, shaking his head.

"No! You'll explain now!" shouted Soichiro, jumping to his feet. "And what does my birthmother have to do with it?"

Doctor Kawai chuckled, waving Soichiro back into seat. "You are a passionate one; I shall have to remember that. You know, Detective Arima, very few patients listen in such detail. If you wish I will try to explain, but it's a bit esoteric."

"Thank you, Doctor Kawai," replied Soichiro, embarrassed by his outburst. "I shall do my best to follow."

"You see, Detective Arima, consciousness is not the totality of our mind."

"I understand that; totality consists of the conscious and unconscious mind."

"Indeed, in fact, the conscious mind is but a very small island swimming in the vast sea of the unconscious. Dreams are metaphorical messages from the unconscious; thus we must learn to interpret them."

"What has that to do with my birthmother?"

"The unconscious is our mysterious other; thus, for males, it is linked and strongly identified with the feminine as each man experiences those ineffable qualities, starting with the mother. In your case, your birthmother is a cruel and heartless woman the likes of which I find shocking. So I feared, given that model of femininity, the unconscious image might thwart our work. But it has been exceedingly beneficent; thus you must have had some compensatory relationship with another woman or women."

"You're right; I do not entirely understand."

"And I've simplified it, but as our work together progresses, I have no doubt you will come to an understanding."

After that first appointment, Soichiro considered the word compensatory. Its root was the verb to compensate, which had several meanings: to make restitution, or to atone, but it also meant to counterbalance. With this last meaning, Shizuni came to mind; she had come to the hospital to care for him after Reiji and Soji had saved him. At the time Soichiro had just turned three, and he feared her. She was like Ryoko, a woman – a frightening creature. But she patiently endured his angry tantrums, calming him, never taking offence or giving up. She had won him over with her quiet, inexhaustible kindness. Then too, he had Yukino, who never deserted him in spite of his violent and shameful behavior.

Soichiro came back to the here and now as the train slowed, and an automated voice announced his stop. He got to his feet and, grabbing his briefcase, he made his way down the aisle and off the train.

A half hour later, clutching his briefcase to his chest, Soichiro stood outside the gate of the house where he'd grown up. In the late autumn light it looked beautiful. Having second thoughts, he paused; this might upset Shizuni. Perhaps he was being selfish; he might make her cry, and he'd caused her enough grief over the three decades of their relationship. However, if he canceled on her, she would worry, and then she would call Yukino, and then …

"Soichiro, why are you standing out there?" asked Shizuni, having opened the gate while he dithered. "Come in; the tea's ready."

"Mother! Hello."

"Hello, son."

At that an overwhelming feeling of love for this woman possessed Soichiro, and he hugged her. "Thank you, Mom."

"It's only tea, dear," she said, staring at him in surprise. Soichiro knew why; he wasn't really the touchy-feely type.

As the two walked inside Soichiro admired the house that had once appeared so huge to him. Now his adult stature reduced it to human size. He'd found so much happiness and comfort in this place; it had witnessed both his breakdown and his resurrection. Once inside, he saw the dining table laid out with his favorite foods. Deeply touched by Shizuni's gesture, his throat constricted as tears filled his eyes; she'd remembered all the things he loved and had prepared them in an effort to please him. Why had she done that?

"Now, what is so important?" asked Shizuni, once they were seated. She poured two steaming cups of green tea.

Overcome by Shizuni's kindness, Soichiro fought for control as he stared at the plate she had set in front of him. She'd made sure to keep all the different foods separate on his plate; something he had insisted on as a child. He'd outgrown this, but Shizuni honored him by remembering this detail from his boyhood.

He bowed to her. "This is so kind of you."

"Soichi, why are you weeping?"

"Thank you, Mom." He said covering his eyes with his hands and resting his elbows on the table.

"For what?"

"Remembering what I like. You even prepared creamed mushrooms on toast, and Yukino says that's a pain to make."

"I'm your mother; I enjoy doing things for you. You so rarely ask for anything; I must say I was surprised by your call."

"Mom …"

Shizuni reached out tentatively, touching his hand upon which he grasped hers, holding it tightly.

"Shall I call Yukino?" asked Shizuni. "Did you remember something painful?"

"No, don't call Yukino," he said, wiping his eyes. "I want to speak with you alone."

"Soichiro, please, go on."

"You're going to think I'm an idiot," said Soichiro, opening his briefcase and pulling out the three keepsake boxes Yukino had made for their children. He set them on the table before Shizuni who looked at him quizzically as he nodded to the boxes. "Please open them."

"Babies' keepsake boxes," said Shizuni, holding Sakura's. "Such a lovely tradition."

"Look inside."

Shizuni did as ordered, opening each box and examining the contents, touching each item gently as if it were a precious jewel. "Thank you for showing me these, Soichiro. Such wonderful memories. Your children are so beautiful."

Soichiro didn't answer; what could he say? That right now his children were not beautiful; they were rivals? That these keepsake boxes made him jealous of the love Yukino lavished on them? Shizuni watched him; she seemed to be taking stock.

"Yukino is a wonderful mother," said Shizuni. "I'm so glad you found her; she changed everything because you gave her your heart."

"Pitiful as it is."

"Soichiro …" said Shizuni, gazing at him with a curious expression. "There is something I'd like to show you. Will you give me a moment? It may surprise you."

"I should go," said Soichiro, losing heart. He could not talk to Shizuni about his failings; she would never understand. She'd probably hate him for his infantile selfishness.

"No, you shouldn't; I believe I know why you came here – to me. Tell me you will wait."

"I'll wait, but I promised Yukino I'd be home early."

"This won't take long."

Shizuni left the room and climbed the stairs; he heard her footsteps overhead as she walked down the hall to her bedroom. Ten minutes later she returned with a pale blue box, a delicate fall garden scene painted on its top. Placing it before him, she smiled. Woven into the scene in old fashioned calligraphy was the name Soichiro Arima; his birth date was written in the trees with multi-colored leaves.

"My father made this box just for you. Open it, Soichiro."

"Mom, I didn't know …" mumbled Soichiro, his eyes wide with surprise. "It's beautiful."

"As you're in a hurry, I'll do it."

A pond scene decorated the inside lid of the box. Soichiro held it, examining the detailed nature painting, his grandfather's specialty. Among the cattails, lotus and other water plants frogs, turtles, dragon flies, moths, butterflies and birds cavorted. If you looked closely, a little boy with black hair kneeled at the water's edge surveying the scene. The contents of the box were wrapped in crisp baby blue tissue paper and sealed with a gold sticker embossed with the name Soichiro. Shizuni peeled the sticker loose; the paper crinkled as she opened the folds.

"Kuma-chan," said Soichiro as he stared into the black plastic eyes of his beloved blue teddy bear.

"Do you remember the day I brought him to the hospital?" asked Shizuni.

"Yes, I was frightened …"

"Because you were alone at night."

"You told me hold on to him, and he would give me courage."

"Did I exaggerate?" asked Shizuni, softly.

"No, you were right," said Soichiro, holding the blue bear in the palm of his hand. Once upon a time the stuffed animal had seemed huge. "With Kuma-chan in my arms, I slept through the night."

"Ah, good."

"Kuma-chan is the first toy anyone ever gave me. Did I remember to thank you?"

"It was months before you spoke even a single word to us. But after I gave him to you, you did let me hold you on my lap. I took that as a sign of your gratitude."

"I'm sorry; I was afraid of you at first."

"Who can blame you? I've always wondered, Soichiro, did you talk when you lived with Ryoko?"

"Yes, I did. I can remember calling her mommy."

"Why did you stop talking?"

"Ryoko left me for dead, even though I begged her to give me another chance. Words seemed useless after that."

"But then you found people who listened."

"Yes, but it was confusing at first."

"Do you remember this?" asked Shizuni, holding up a small hooded coat.

"My favorite tan coat!"

"You wore this until it was so tight you couldn't move in it anymore."

"That was the first winter coat I had that wasn't dirty and ragged. I remember how warm and soft it felt; it smelled good too. I was so sad when I outgrew it; I didn't know you would get me a new one."

"What about these?" she asked.

"My first pair of real shoes, and my homecoming outfit – blue pants and a striped shirt with a frog embroidered on it. I loved that frog."

"You see, Soichiro, you came home from the hospital twice, once as an infant with your birthmother and then again with Soji and I, your mother and father. That second homecoming will always be so precious to me; you are my only child. Though you were a toddler and not an infant, I wanted to commemorate that momentous occasion."

"Mom, thank you." Soichiro could not help himself, he cried like a baby as, with tears in her eyes, Shizuni held him in her arms.

"Even though she did not give birth to you, you have a mother who loves you with all her heart, no matter what you do. I hope you will find solace in it."

When the two recovered they went through the rest of the box's contents which, like his children's, contained Soichiro's baby teeth, and a lock of his black silky, fine toddler hair. She had even kept his hospital wrist band, and the bandage he'd wore on his head, claiming it had magical powers, since his wound had healed without scarring. After they explored the rest of the box's contents, which included Soichiro's original art works, report cards, poems and other treasures, they sat at the table laughing and reminiscing about his childhood. Shizuni warmed up the food, and they ate together.

"Thank you, Mom."

"You know I showed your keepsake box to Yukino one afternoon shortly before you two married."

"You did?" asked Soichiro. "Where were Dad and I?"

"Off meeting some of his contacts in the police department."

"Yukino never mentioned it; I wish she had."

"She decided then and there to have my father make a similar box for Sakura. Of course we didn't know the baby was Sakura then."

"I assumed the boxes were a custom of Yukino's family. I don't know why, but it gives me great joy to know the tradition has been passed down through you," said Soichiro. He stood and went to the sliding door, opening it.

"Hey, Mom, come look; it's snowing."

"How beautiful," said Shizuni, joining him. "The first snow of the season … Do you remember how you loved to sit in the garden and watch snow fall? Your dad called you our little samurai."

"Put on your jacket, Mom. Let's sit in the garden together - for a little while."

And they did just that, sitting on the viewing porch that overlooked the small Zen garden in the entryway. Mesmerized, the two watched in silence as the snow fell slowly in huge feathery flakes that melted the moment they touched the earth.

"You know it is close to the thirtieth anniversary of your first homecoming," said Shizuni.

"Is it?"

"Indeed, just two weeks from tomorrow."

"My true homecoming."

With that the world intruded as loud shouts shattered their peaceful conversation. Moments later, the front gate flew open and Sakura, Suo and Ai entered followed by Soji.


	3. Kannon Smiles

**Chapter 3: Kannon Smiles  
**by Ivy Rangee

From the viewing porch overlooking a small Zen garden, Soichiro and his mother observed the thick feathery snow fall as it kissed the earth and then melted into oblivion. Sitting beside Shizuni on a low bench, Soichiro contemplated the beautiful scene. So engrossed was he in the moment that all thoughts ceased, and he resided only in the blessed here and now. But perhaps such gifts are not meant to last, for without warning Soichiro's three children, accompanied by Soji Arima, burst through the gate of the senior Arima's household.

"Grandma!" shouted Suo and Ai Arima, throwing their arms around Shizuni Arima.

"Hello, Dad," said Sakura, who made for her father. "Are you snow-viewing?"

"Yes, Sakura," said Soichiro. He gazed at his strikingly beautiful daughter; she was the image of both Reichiro and Reiji Arima, his biological grandfather and father, respectively. She even played piano like Reiji. But her take charge, pragmatic temperament more closely resembled her mother's. Fortunately, she exhibited none of the traits of her crazy Arima male predecessors, who had all suffered damage at the hands of a parent, though each in his own way. In his teen years Soichiro had thought it an Arima curse: misleadingly beautiful and well behaved on the outside while dark and disturbed on the inside. Yukino had mitigated this; not just for Sakura, but for Soichiro as well.

"It's beautiful," smiled Sakura, putting her arm around his shoulder and kissing his cheek. "I love the first snow."

"Me too," he mumbled, embarrassed by her affection.

"It even smells good." She continued to hang on him.

"It does, indeed – fresh, yet radiating a pristine coldness." Normally he would have shrugged her off by now, but for some reason he thought of Bodhisattva Kannon with her hands extended in welcome. From this vision came the realization that he was the father of this wonderful sentient being.

"I like the way it blunts harsh sounds." She leaned her head on his shoulder.

"And softens sharp edges," Soichiro added with an ironic smile. All these years he had harbored a secret animosity toward her and his sons simply because they had been born to a loving mother. But unconditional love is a two way street; he should have realized that. Even with the severely cruel treatment he'd received at the hands of Ryoko, he'd loved his birthmother. Indeed, one of the most painful aspects of her heartless brutality lay in her total rejection of the love he so desperately wished to lavish on her in spite of anything she might do to him. Sakura and his boys loved him in the same way he had loved his mother; he had failed to understand that and act accordingly.

"You know, Dad, you really are poetic."

"Me?" he asked, smiling at her. "No, I'm an idiot."

"No you're not; you can't hide it from me. You are a true samurai."

"Sakura, you flatter me." Her generous words moved him; he did not deserve them, but he would work hard to be worthy of them in the future. The love he sought from a mother who despised him his children gave him freely; he had been so blind, mindlessly licking old wounds.

"Really, Dad, I can fashion our exchange into a poem."

"Let me hear it." Feeling utterly awkward, Soichiro put his arm around her shoulder in an attempt to show the affection he felt.

"The first snow, radiating pristine coldness,  
Blankets harsh sounds  
Softens sharp edges."

When she finished she returned his hug. Perhaps he could withdraw the shadow he cast.

"You are most skillful. Thank you for that, Sakura."

"Oh, Daddy, you are always so formal."

"What should I have said?"

"Well, most people would have said awesome or major props, but no worries, I love that about you. It makes me think of Itto Ogami."

"That is a compliment - I think. Itto was a little rough on poor Daigoro."

"But Daigoro became a great samurai."

"I cannot argue with that."

As they spoke the two boys had gone silent while observing father and daughter. Perhaps moved by their father's rare show of outward affection they drew near.

"Hey Dad, what's going on?" said Suo. This was seconded by Ai with a nod.

"What a surprise," said Soichiro, greeting them. "I didn't expect to see you two and your sister at Grandma and Grandpa's."

"Grandpa picked us up in the hospital limo," said Suo. "It's so exciting. We're staying the night. And we're gonna have pizza."

"Mmm," said Soichiro. "What kind?"

"Seaweed and shiso," declared Ai.

"No! I want seafood with extra mayonnaise," demanded Suo

"Don't argue, boys," interrupted Soji. "You can each have whatever you want."

"You spoil then, Dad," laughed Soichiro.

"That's what grandfathers do. One day you'll be one, and then you'll know the true joy of spoiling another human being without reservation"

"Grandfather?" said Soichiro, his face going red.

"We're gonna play daifugo, too!" added Ai. "And Grandpa said we can watch _Ninja Warrior_."

"Hey, Dad," said Suo, squeezing between Shizuni and Soichiro. He rested his head on his father's shoulder. "You should go on that show."

"Yeh, Dad," said Ai, inserting himself between Sakura and Soichiro to take over the other shoulder. "I know you could beat that game. You're so tough."

"First a samurai and now a ninja. My prospects are limitless," chuckled Soichiro.

"Don't laugh, Dad. You'd be famous. You'd be a Sasuke All Star," said Suo.

"As appealing as that sounds, I have no desire for notoriety; it's only brought me sorrow. Besides, only two people have ever won that game."

"Well it wouldn't be any good if it were easy," complained Ai, as Soichiro looked from one to the other. He put his arms around them, embracing them both in matching headlocks. The two boys giggled and fought back.

"That all sounds great, but what about homework?" asked Soichiro, letting them win the struggle.

"Mom made sure we finished so we can have game night with Grandma and Grandpa," said Ai as Suo shook his head, and then both boys leaped on their father, wrestling him to ground.

"I have a little more work to do, Dad, but I'll finish it after the boys go to bed," said Sakura, pulling first Suo and then Ai off.

"What about Kendo practice?"

"Don't worry Soichiro," said Soji. "We'll make sure Sakura gets there on time."

"You know it's at zero five-thirty."

"That has been explained to me, and I have made the necessary arrangements."

"Let's go inside and order the pizza," said Shizuni, opening the door for the children.

"Soichiro," said Soji, catching up with his son as they entered the bright warm house. "The car is waiting to take you home to your wife. By the way, she arranged this so you could have some privacy, if you get my drift. Make the most of it."

"Thanks, Dad,' replied the embarrassed Soichiro. "I'll get my things."

His father looked at him and clicked his tongue. "Time to grow up, son."

His head down, Soichiro strode to the dining table where he gathered the three keepsake boxes into his briefcase, and placed his cap under his arm. But as he was about to leave he hesitated a minute over his own memory box, running his fingers over his name, Soichiro Arima.

"What is that, Dad?" asked Suo, whose twin Ai was never far behind. Soichiro turned to his sons, wondering when they had gotten so tall. In his self absorption he'd missed so much.

"It's a box of my childhood things; your grandmother saved them."

"We want to see," shouted Ai.

"Yes, Dad," said Sakura, in her poised, aristocratic manner so completely the opposite of her brothers. "You rarely talk about your childhood."

"But Mom makes up for it," laughed Ai. "It's always about how easy we have it."

"Yeah," agreed Suo. "All we ever hear is how responsible she was, always taking care of her younger sisters, helping around her parent's house and keeping Dad in line."

"Ah well," said Soichiro. "I was a delinquent."

"You were, Dad?" shouted Ai; he seemed delighted at the prospect. "What kinda stuff did you do?"

"Yeah," seconded Suo. "Did you get expelled?"

"No, but it was only thanks to your mother."

"You're making that up, Dad," said Sakura. "You were valedictorian of your class; your name is on the plaque. You were first in your class. And you were Kendo champion for the entire country."

"That doesn't mean I was well behaved."

"Oh! And don't forget how Mom walked to school uphill both ways," said Suo.

Soichiro smiled. "Well that is true. I know because I walked to and from school with her. Overcoming such difficulties builds character. The three of you would do well to emulate your mother."

"And what of you, Dad?" asked Sakura.

"Me?"

"Yes. What should we do about you?"

"I'm simply the lucky man who gets to escort your mother through life."

"But, Dad, you're an important police officer - a detective with Sherlock Holmesian skills. Mom says they always bring you in on the most difficult cases. And you've achieved the highest levels of Kendo."

"Maybe so, but that's not what counts."

"Mom wouldn't be pleased if she heard you say that," said Sakura. "She applauds achievement."

"Hey, Dad?" asked Ai.

"What, Ai?"

"What is important to you?"

"Having a home with your mother and three of you."

"But everybody has that," said Suo.

"No they don't," said Soichiro, pulling his son into a bear hug. Ai immediately squeezed in on the action.

"Really?" said Ai.

"I'm a police officer. I've seen more than most."

"I guess we've led sheltered lives," said Sakura, waxing philosophical.

"Keep it that way," said Soichiro, patting her silky black hair.

"Say goodbye, children, your father has to go," interrupted Shizuni. "Your mother just phoned wondering where he is."

"But the box with his stuff in it," said Sakura.

"I'll tell you all about it," said Shizuni, taking Soichiro's arm and leading him to the door.

"Mom … please be careful what you say," whispered Soichiro.

"Don't worry, Soichi, they know more than you think."

"How?"

"Reiji."

"What has he told them?" asked Soichiro with trepidation. "That guy has no sense of propriety; I don't want my children to know about my early years."

"They know most everything – and Reiji is your father."

"Please tell me he did not go into an account of his attempt on Ryoko's life. Attempted murder is illegal even when the person in question deserves it. I'd have to haul him in if he did that in front of me now. "

"He loves to brag about that. And you know how Reiji is; he'd probably start a prison riot so I believe it inadvisable to haul him in, as you put it. Reiji means no harm; he wants your children to understand you. He's afraid they blame themselves for your moods."

"I don't want them to know … It's shameful."

"For Ryoko, not for you; we have learned the hard way not to bury truth behind fake smiles. The truth always comes back to bite you on the butt."

"I don't want my children to know what Ryoko did to me - the evil bitch."

"Language, Soichi!" said Shizuni.

"Sorry, Mom."

"I understand," she replied, touching his cheek. "But Reiji's way is best, and I never thought I'd ever say those words. What if that woman were to crawl out from under whatever rock she calls home and tells them she's their biological grandmother?"

"That won't happen," said Soichiro, his face grim.

"What are you telling me, Soichiro?" Shizuni's eyes widened. Soichiro could see her fear.

"I'm a police officer. There a few perks to the job."

"Soichiro, you didn't …" whispered his mother.

"I did a search for her, Mom; she's left the country."

"Truly?" asked Shizuni, relief suffusing her face.

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Macao," said Soichiro.

"She might as well be living in Hell."

"It's what she deserves."

"That's good news, but what if …" said Shizuni.

"I've placed an alert on her passport. We'll know if she returns."

"I'm so relieved."

"Good. Now, tell me, what are my kids doing here?"

"Yukino called me this morning," explained Shizuni. "She was worried after she spoke with you on the phone, and asked if we would watch the children so the two of you might have some time alone."

"Why didn't you tell me they were expected?" asked Soichiro, with a stern look.

"Because I knew you'd fret over it; I didn't want to ruin our time together. It's so rare you seek me out."

"Mom … I'll do better." His face softened into a smile.

"Promise."

"I promise," he pledged, kissing her forehead and then making his way into the snowy night.


	4. Kannon Hides

**Chapter Four: Kannon Smiles  
**by Ivy Rangee

Alone in the back of the his family's limousine, Detective Soichiro Arima sat in darkness as the sleek auto sped down the slick, wet freeway, carrying him home to Yukino. Technically the car was meant for hospital business only, but tonight, Soichiro's adopted father, Soji, had hijacked it so he could show off before his grandchildren. Why, Soichiro wondered, did a hospital need a limo with its own driver? Though he usually scoffed at such luxury, tonight Soichiro relished the pleasure, sinking into the warm, soft, gray upholstery while someone else took care of the why and how of the way home.

Outside, large, feathery snowflakes still fell, accumulating upon the road's shoulder like a soft, sparkling cloak. With cold and snow came the new year; how quickly time passed. Over the last year, his daughter, Sakura, had entered her first year of high school, and his twin sons, Ai and Suo, muddled through their second year of middle school. Soichiro hadn't understood their childhoods would be so ephemeral; after all, his own had seemed like an eternity. What a fool he had been for taking this gift for granted, never taking time off, believing his children would always be there waiting for him when time permitted. What astonishing egotism!

Soon they would be grown. The knowledge that he'd let something precious slip away almost unnoticed brought hot, silent tears to his eyes. Unlike Yukino, he'd never done anything special for his children; instead, he'd been a pain in the butt, hovering over them like a maniacal taskmaster: correcting their homework, interrogating their friends, running background checks on the parents of their known associates, and administering discipline when necessary. And all the while he'd nursed a secret anger and jealousy toward them, simply because they'd had the good fortune to be born to a loving mother, something any decent father would actively seek for his children. What a dick he'd been, and yet, amazingly, his children still loved him.

Here lay proof of the beneficence of life; children born desiring nothing so much as to love and be loved by their parents. Any parent worth his or her salt would cherish the great generosity of a child's love. To be perfect in a little one's innocent eyes - that gift had been dropped at his feet, and he had betrayed it. Traveling on the wings of memory, he saw clearly the hurt on their little faces the many times he had canceled an activity because of work or worse because a dark mood had possessed him. The pain of his failure constricted his throat even as it bore down on his chest with a pressure so intense he fought for breath, holding his hand to his heart. He must find a way to make things right.

Lost in thought Soichiro gazed out the window, letting bitter tears of regret fall. A few more miles and he'd be home where he'd confess his failure to Yukino with the hope that she would forgive him and suggest a solution. While he considered her possible reactions his cell rang. The blue letters in the display read Doctor Kawai. After hesitating for six rings, he answered.

"Good evening, Doctor Kawai. Detective Soichiro Arima here," said Soichiro, sitting forward and raising the window between the driver and passenger area.

"You answered?!"

"Obviously," frowned Soichiro. He could hear the doctor smirking through the phone.

Doctor Kawai chuckled. "My service relayed your message. How can I help you?"

"Have you returned from Switzerland?" Soichiro deflected, while at the same time trying to sound calm and rational.

"I have not. But you have not answered my question. What can I do for you, Detective Arima?"

"It's complicated; it can wait until you're back in Japan," replied Soichiro, wishing he hadn't answered the phone. The old man never gave an inch. He was as persistent and inquisitive as the best detectives on the Tokyo Police Force.

"Complicated? Sounds interesting. Please take all the time you need." prodded Doctor Kawai.

"I found something," mumbled the detective, ashamed.

"Be specific."

"My wife, Yukino, made keepsake boxes for each of our children."

"Did she? And what did they contain?"

"Little caps for the twins and a bonnet for Sakura – outfits they wore home from hospital … and other things, like baby teeth and cuttings of their hair."

"How did you react?" asked the doctor, gently.

"The usual way."

"And how is that?" demanded the doctor.

"With jealousy and anger." This came out louder than Soichiro wished. He felt as if he'd shouted.

"Why?"

"Because …" hesitated Soichiro.

"There was no such box for you?" asked Doctor Kawai, perceptive as ever.

"Yes," answered Soichiro, embarrassed by how petty and childish he sounded.

"But why do you care?"

"Because of the love such a gesture reveals."

"And what kind of love is that?" asked the doctor, patiently.

"Why are you asking me?" growled Soichiro. "We've had heated debates regarding its existence many times."

"Tell me anyway."

"The unconditional love shared by mother and child," muttered Soichiro.

"Something you profoundly desire."

"Yes," said Soichiro, solemnly.

"So much so that …" led Doctor Kawai.

"In secret, I've felt anger and jealousy toward my own children. I'm vile."

"You are not vile, Soichiro. We have been over this."

"You mean my shadow?"

"Yes, as long as you reject this part of yourself, you give it the power to arise as an autonomous complex."

"Explain." Soichiro held the phone so tightly his hand shook.

"Again?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever overreacted to your children's behavior?" asked the doctor, as if he talked to a child.

"You know I have," grumbled Soichiro.

"Remember how it felt?"

"Yes, it seemed like I'd lost control of my body," said Soichiro, cringing at the recollection. "It felt as if I watched while someone else acted like a tyrannical idiot."

"That would be your shadow – everything about yourself that you have rejected as despicable, shameful or even just inappropriate, and then repressed."

"But I'm a grown man!" Soichiro shouted this so loudly, the driver readjusted the rearview mirror to check on him.

"That may be so, but that battered child you once were follows you, and he wants what he wants," said Doctor Kawai, his voice calm and solicitous.

"Well he got it today." Soichiro waved to the chauffer, indicating all was well.

"Did he?" asked the doctor. "Please tell me."

"I went to see Shizuni – my adopted mother."

"Not your wife?"

"No, I wanted to show the keepsake boxes to the woman who raised me."

"Even if she is not your birthmother?" Doctor Kawai sounded pleased.

"In a spiritual sense she is, if you consider my rebirth."

"Rebirth? How is that?"

"As Shizuni pointed out, I came home from the hospital twice."

"What a clever woman, and did she commemorate this second birth?" asked Doctor Kawai.

"Yes."

"So there is a keepsake box with Detective Soichiro Arima's name on it?"

"There is … minus the detective; after all, they thought I'd be a doctor."

"How did you feel when you saw your name on that box?"

"So grateful to have Shizuni in my life."

"Indeed, Shizuni mitigated much of your birthmother's influence. Without her I fear you might have been …"

"A serial killer?" asked Soichiro, with a derisive laugh.

"I was going to say lost."

Soichiro could see the doctor's frowning face in his mind's eye.

"Doctor Kawai?"

"Yes, Soichiro?"

"I wonder?"

"What do you wonder?" asked Doctor Kawai.

"We've always talked about unconditional love as occurring between mother and child, but could the word parent be substituted for mother?" Soichiro asked this with deep earnestness as his hand tightened into a fist.

"You mean parent and child?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's has traditionally been described as between mother and child; I believe this is because the mother is a child's first caregiver, and baby instinctively knows he would not survive without her vigilance and love."

"But what of _Lone Wolf and Cub_?" asked Soichiro.

"_Lone Wolf and Cub_ seems hardly a good example."

"My daughter thought it excellent."

"You discussed this with Sakura?" Doctor Kawai's voice expressed clear surpise.

"She brought it up. And I think she has a point; granted Itto's lifestyle was severe, but he raised Daigoro from the day the child was born in the samurai tradition. And you can't say Itto didn't love the boy."

"You have a point, Soichiro; and Daigoro in return revered Itto."

"He did, and it was Daigoro's superb behavior that disarmed everyone, even the shogun and the opposing daimyo."

"I hope you do not intend to make your children walk the way of demons as Itto and Daigoro did?"

"No, Doctor, it is my hope that they will follow their dreams, always doing their best to achieve them…" Soichiro hesitated.

"But?" asked Doctor Kawai.

"I believe you have been right all along; the shadow I cast holds my children back. I wish to dispel it."

"Embrace is the proper word," corrected the doctor.

"I'll trust you."

"Trust me? That is a big step for someone who trusts no one."

"Yes," said Soichiro, his voice broke as he chocked down a sob.

"Are you alright Soichiro? You're not alone?" inquired the old man.

"I'm on my way home to my wife, who wishes to have an evening alone with me."

"Aren't you the lucky one."

"Doctor, can I make up for my failure at this late date? My children are close to grown. Will you help me? I'm lost."

"I will do all I can, but remember yours is a difficult case. Do you recall the dream you had the night before your first appointment?"

"About a missing ingredient?"

"Indeed, looking for that missing ingredient has been like looking for a needle in a haystack. But that is exactly what we have done, and we will continue to do."

"But why is it necessary?" Soichiro failed to suppress his irritation.

"Because your psyche says so," said Doctor Kawai, firmly.

"Can't I just somehow compensate for this mysterious thing?" asked Soichiro.

"Soichiro, you are a detective, and, if those decorations you've received mean anything, one of the best on the force. You can do this. You know how to be persistent; you know what questions to ask. Of all my patients you are the best equipped for the search."

"I need to know why I must continue searching."

"Because you are limping through life, trying to make sense of things most people take for granted."

"It is important to me. Tell me why!" demanded Soichiro so loudly the driver turned to look at him.

"C. G. Jung, whose therapeutic techniques I use, studied this. It is exceedingly complicated."

"Complicated? Sounds interesting. Please take all the time you need," said Soichiro, smoothly shooting the doctor's words back at him.

"You are too sharp for me, Soichiro."

"Honeyed words will get you nowhere, Doctor Kawai."

"Alright, Detective, have it your way; I will try, though I fear it may bore you. But perhaps it will help, given your analytical gifts. You know of the archetypes of the unconscious?"

"Yes, you have explained the concept."

"Every human infant is born with these archetypes imprinted in the very structure of the brain," explained the doctor. "Archetypes are akin to instincts. One might say archetypes are images or personifications of instincts, but instinctual behavior is very difficult to discern in human beings."

"What have instincts to do with my missing ingredient?" wondered Soichiro.

"This lack handicaps you."

"How?" demanded Soichiro.

"Perhaps, I should use an example … yes, with a species where no observable learning has taken place."

"What do you mean?"

"A creature that operates completely on instinct," explained the doctor.

"In other words, a moth that just knows how to be a moth."

"Yes, and it is serendipitous that you should choose a moth, because Doctor Jung searched for cases in which the nature of an animal's life cycle would preclude any learned or practiced behavior. He did this in order to show the incredible refinement of instinct."

"Refinement of instinct?" echoed Soichiro, intrigued.

"Yes, refinement of instinct, now listen. In spring after the Yucca plant has blossomed in the desert, yucca moths emerge from their underground cocoons. Lured by the flower's fragrance, these ancient insects fly to the plant, and enter its flowers. Enclosed within the petals, they rest until dusk when the blossoms open fully. In the desert twilight, yucca moths rise from the spreading petals and mate, after which the female moth carries out a very complex set of maneuvers. In secrecy, during the darkest hours of the night, she alights upon a yucca flower, and, taking up some of the bloom's pollen, the tiny, white insect kneads it into a sticky pellet. Then, after searching for a second, very carefully chosen flower, the female yucca moth enters the bloom and lays her eggs within the blossom's ovary, afterward climbing the flower's stigma where she deposits the pollen pellet she gathered from the first flower. With this task complete, the moth has insured a safe haven and a food source for her larvae, for by taking pollen from one blossom to another she has pollinated the second flower, and her offspring will thrive on the seeds produced by this fertilization. After repeating this operation until all her eggs are laid, the moth flies away, dying well before the birth of her progeny who consume the seeds, and then, after a few days, drop to the earth where they burrow down, and spin their cocoons."

"I'm lost. What has this to do with a missing ingredient?"

"Be patient, Detective Arima. Jung wondered how a moth could perform such a complicated series of actions, having never observed such behavior. He theorized that exceedingly precise cues caused intuitions which in turn led to the manifestation of instinctual behaviors."

"What are you saying?"

"Suppose we could look into the psyche of a yucca moth. What would we find? Jung's guess - a numinous image of a dark starlit night in which a fragrant, luminous yucca flower blooms. It is this image that triggers the moth's behavior, allowing the moth to perceive the totality of the situation and act out her instinctual behavior."

"Aren't instincts blind impulses?" asked Soichiro, truly engrossed in Doctor Kawai's explanation.

"No, instincts are attuned and adapted to mesh elegantly with the external environment. But the behavior cannot occur unless all elements are in place. For instance, if the there are no yucca flowers the moths do not mate. If something is missing, the numinous image will not be activated and the instinct will remain dormant."

"Dormant?"

"Yes, if the moth's or the plant's natural life cycle is disrupted, the causes and conditions that call forth the numinous image will not manifest, and then neither moth nor plant will reproduce."

"So if something is missing the moths do not act out their in-born instincts. Are you saying this is true for humans?"

"Yes, but it is far more difficult to see. Our civilized conditioning masks what we truly are, and yet, archetypes affect us every day. However, even though it is difficult to discern instinct operating in human beings, the results of one archetype are observable."

"What is that?"

"We've been over this."

"The process of individuation?" sighed Soichiro, who found this concept difficult to grasp.

"Yes, no matter what the human endeavor, scratch the surface and you will find a search for meaning and wholeness."

"Individuation is the manifestation of instinct?"

"Yes, it is the archetype of a process whose goal is totality, thus it contains all other archetypes within it. However, keeping in mind that the case of a human being is exceedingly complex, nevertheless the causes and conditions must be in place or the process will … "

"Fail," interrupted Soichiro.

"Fail? Maybe … temporarily, but there is always the possibility of success, because as humans we can try again."

"Even when something is missing?"

"Yes, yucca moths are short lived. They do not have the time to wait for late blooming flowers; we humans have more options."

"And you think I can find what is missing so that a numinous image may be activated?" pressed Soichiro.

"Yes, with the causes and conditions in place, the process will naturally unfold."

"Will following this path lead me to become a better father?"

"It will. But remember you have both Soji and Reiji as examples."

"Thank you, Doctor, for your patience with me."

"It is two in the morning here in Switzerland, and you have worn me out with your insatiable need for explanations. I am an old man. I'll call tomorrow evening at nineteen hundred for an update. Is that acceptable to you?"

"I'll be fine until you return."

"Humor me, Soichiro."

"As you wish. Good evening, Doctor."

With trembling hands, Soichiro put his phone away and stared at the floor. He felt overwhelmed as always after a session with Doctor Kawai even though the old man gave him hope that healing was possible. When the car slowed Soichiro broke free of his reverie to watch as the driver negotiated a slippery off-ramp, skidding to a halt at a stoplight. Outside, the wind howled, driving thick snow, which now stood a half a meter deep upon the pavement. Soichiro had been so absorbed in the doctor's explanation that he had missed the storm's increasing fury.

As the driver stopped at the entrance to the modern apartment building, Soichiro wondered if he would be called to police headquarters for emergency duty. All the weather predictions had been for a light blanketing of snow not a blizzard. He hesitated, whispering a prayer to the goddess of love, Benzaiten, for an uninterrupted evening of pleasure with Yukino so that he might forget his troubles. But the moment he completed his petition, his face reddened with embarrassment. Here he sat selfishly thinking only of himself when, no doubt, the poor driver prayed for the same thing - to get home to his wife before the weather grew worse.

"Good night," said Soichiro, after rolling down the window that separated passenger from driver. Wishing he could remember the man's name, Soichiro handed him a tip. This wasn't customary, but he'd forced the driver to work late in terrible storm. Too, it was a bit of a bribe. Hopefully he wouldn't mention to Soji that Soichiro had been engaged in an animated phone conversation.

"Thank you, Detective Arima," said the driver, tipping his cap.

"Drive safely," replied Soichiro, climbing out of the car.

The driver waved as he carefully steered the car down the slippery street, leaving his passenger alone under the heavily laden, menacing clouds of the snowy night. Soichiro shivered as icy, windblown snowflakes breached his collar only to melt in defeat on the back of his neck. That sensation brought with it recollection - on a night such as this his mother left him for dead.


	5. Benzaiten's Fire

**Chapter Five: ****Benzaiten's Fire  
**by Ivy Rangee

In defiance of gravity, Detective Soichiro Arima hurtled skyward in a sterile, metallic elevator. He watched the cardinal numbers of the floor indicator glow and then darken: one, two, three …. Thankfully he rode alone for he'd slipped as he made his way through the deep, wet snow that covered the winding walkway to the lobby of his apartment building. Not only did his dress uniform reek from the heavy, animal odor of wet wool, but, too, blood trickled down his cheek from the gash on his forehead. Fortunately, he'd been spared the embarrassment of witnesses as he writhed forward and back, trying to regain his balance before the inevitable fall. He'd hit his head on a one of the low posts that lined the sidewalk. Buried as it was in snow, it had been invisible; otherwise he might have avoided it.

"Please let the hall be empty," he whispered as the elevator bell dinged and the doors glided open for the sixth floor.

Pressing the hold button, Soichiro poked his head out the elevator door, looking furtively first up and then down the hallway for signs of life…No one…Now, if only his luck held until he was safely ensconced within his apartment. Seizing opportunity, he dashed down the corridor, pulling his keys form his pocket as he reached the door to his unit, but he needn't have, for a smiling Yukino greeted him just as he put his key to the lock.

"Soichiro … what happened to you?" Her face clouded as Soichiro stared at her outfit and cursed his clumsiness. Now she'd go all medical doctor on him; he'd have to do something to head her off. Thinking quickly, he smoothed back his dark wet hair and donned his dress policemen's cap.

"I'm fine," he said, looking her over. "What exactly is that you're wearing? It's very becoming."

"We'll discuss my outfit later," said Yukino, reaching up to touch his forehead.

"Isn't it an oldfashioned nurse's uniform?" he asked, brushing her hand away.

"It is … now tell me how you …"

"Good evening, nurse, I am Officer Soichiro Arima, Tokyo Police Department," he interrupted, hoping she would pick up the thread. "I've been in altercation with a Yakuza boss; he's safely in custody, but I wonder if you might have a look at my wound. By the way, I did not get your name."

Yukino gazed at him. He could see the wheels turning as she assessed his injury and considered whether to play along with the fantasy. Gods, he loved those old fashioned, starched white uniforms with their perky little caps.

"Nurse Yukino Miyazawa at your service," she replied, to his relief. "Put your things down, Officer … Arima was it? Then please follow me."

"Thank you, Nurse Miyazawa," replied Soichiro, trailing her down the narrow hallway. The crisp white uniform opened to her bosom, revealing a surprising length of cleavage, and, though the material consisted of thick cotton, he could clearly see the impression of the lacy bra and garter belt she wore beneath it.

"Strip, Officer Arima, here is a towel and a robe," said Yukino as she led Soichiro into their bedroom. "I shall have to examine every inch of you for all possible injuries."

"If you think that is necessary, Nurse Miyazawa."

"I do! And when I say strip, I mean everything!"

"Everything?" Playing his part, he tried to look shocked.

"Everything. I'll be right back."

Soichiro shivered and not just because of his soaking wet clothes. Watching her slink out the door, he tore the damp uniform from his body, tossing it on the floor. Afterwards he quickly dried and then donned his robe.

"Officer Arima," said Yukino, standing in the doorway with her hip thrust to the side in a highly provocative manner. She had unbuttoned her uniform so it opened from knee to upper thigh. He could see where the top of her lacy white stockings attached to her equally lacy garter belt.

"Nurse Miyazawa?" gulped Soichiro, feeling completely recovered from the cold.

"Is that how you treat your uniform?" She sauntered over to the pile of damp clothing, and then bent low from the waist to retrieve them. Her upturned bottom revealed a great deal, and Soichiro smiled as she hung his clothes to dry; it seemed her panties had gone missing.

"Thank you, nurse, for that thoughtful gesture."

"Your welcome. Follow me, officer." Saying this, she turned and slinked down the hallway with Soichiro on her trail like a dog following a scent. "I'd better take care of that head wound first."

She led him into the bathing room where she pointed to a bench. Obediently Soichiro took a seat as, from her medical case, she took a small square packet. Ripping it open, she examined his forehead. "This may sting a little."

"Ahh …" Soichiro grimaced as she swabbed his wound.

"I'm sorry, Officer, but there is no gentle way to clean your injury. It's pretty deep, but I believe I can repair it with a bit of surgical glue and butterfly tape."

"Thank you, nurse."

Within moments Yukino had finished, but she remained leaning against him, running her fingers through his hair, presumably looking for other damage. He took this opportunity to reach beneath her dress and caress her lovely, firm, round bottom.

"Officer Arima, what are you doing?"

"Please forgive me, Nurse Miyazawa. You're so beautiful, and my willpower is weak due loss of blood," he replied, continuing the massage.

"I'll overlook it this time officer, but …" A groan escaped her lips. "… next time I'll have to report you."

"Never mind, I'll report myself," he mumbled, kissing her inner thigh.

After several minutes of play, Yukino pulled away. "Officer Arima, your examination is not complete. And I have a steaming, wet bath ready for you so you can warm up. Your clothes felt like ice."

"I'm quite hot actually."

"Well, I cannot disagree with that," she smirked. "Remove your robe, and let me see just how weak you are."

Soichiro stood and stripped off his robe.

"My, my, you seem to have regained your strength in spite of the loss so much blood," said Yukino, looking him over carefully. "But I'd better check more thoroughly. Hold your arms out at your side."

Yukino examined every bit of him, running her fingers over his shoulders, back, butt and thighs. Then she circled before him and did a frontal 'exam'. Each touch sent a wave of hot pleasure up Soichiro's spine, inspiring him to touch her soft pink cheek.

"Officer Arima! You said you would restrain yourself!"

"Please excuse me, nurse." But he did not stop; instead he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, tearing her uniform open, and sending its shiny white buttons flying, as he commenced an examination of his own.

"Officer Arima!" commanded Yukino in a shocked yet sultry voice, as she ran her hand down his well muscled abdomen, resting her hand for a moment just below his navel before continuing south. "I am a professional."

"And a very accomplished one." Having said this, a groan escaped his lips.

"My examination is not yet complete," replied Yukino, her chest heaving as she pulled away from him.

"Really? … I found it delightfully thorough." In defiance, he took her back in his arms and ran his tongue over her lips.

"You are loose cannon, officer. Keep it up, and I will have to take possession of your gun," she said, pinching his butt until he winced.

"Am I to be punished?"

"I would prefer not to," she said, slapping his behind with a stinging blow. "But I shall have to unless you hold your arms to your side."

"Forgive me, nurse," said Soichiro, assuming the position.

Soichiro stood at attention while she continued her exquisite torture, driving him closer and closer to the edge.

"You may put your arms down," said Yukino, just as he was about to seize her and carry her to the bedroom. "Officer Arima, after careful examination I find that you are a very healthy specimen of exceptional … shall we say amplitude. Perhaps you would consent to participate as a subject in an ongoing experiment."

Soichiro stifled a smirk. "That depends on what you are proposing." He crossed his arms, clearly flaunting his intention to drive a hard bargain.

"I wish to test the very limits of endurance in a man of your maturity and, how shall I put this delicately, … ah yes … obvious vigor," explained Yukino, running hand over his hot skin as she inspected him.

"Hmmm, and what do I receive in return?"

"I shall think of something," she said, reaching up and touching his cheek.

"I agree on one condition." Soichiro took her in his arm, inhaling her sweet, wet, fecund scent.

"And what is that?"

"You must leave your cap on."

Yukino chucked, "Officer Arima, this is, after all, a serious, scientific undertaking. It would be the height of impropriety to remove my cap."

Several hours later, they spooned, she in his arms. As usual Yukino dozed, but Soichiro lay restlessly, wiggling his foot, considering how to get out of bed without disturbing her. He made to untangle his arm from hers, but she rolled toward him.

"Why don't you ever snuggle with me?" asked his wife. Between the starched white nurse's cap hanging askew in her messy red hair and the glaze of dreamy satisfaction in her eyes, she looked particularly vulnerable.

He ran his hand over her cheek, "I always feel strangely restless afterwards."

"Have you never heard the term afterglow?" asked Yukino, taking his hand and kissing it.

"I have, and I believe I'm looking at it right now." He kissed her forehead.

"You reek of mature sexiness. It drives me wild."

"Wild," smirked Soichiro. "Yes, I believe that describes your behavior exactly."

"Since you're restless, why don't you retrieve the blankets and pillows?"

Soichiro stretched as he stood and then commenced walking about their bedroom, picking up the bed things that lay in disarray upon the floor. The room looked as if a battle royale had taken place within it confines. "You know, my dear wife, when we were in high school I loved being with you, and I fantasized often about the things we might do."

"Did you? Like what?" Yukino asked, smoothing her hair after removing the white cap.

"Just mundane, teenage-boy stuff, but then you met Reiji and started going on about mature sexiness." He threw a pillow at her.

"Your point," she said, catching it.

"I seethed with jealousy over your obsession with Reiji, since at the time I still looked so boyish. He is after all my biological father."

"Don't be angry; you look so much like him. I knew he was the future of you."

"I bow to your superior foresight," said Soichiro. "Maturity has taken our sex life to a whole new level."

"Then lay with me," said Yukino as he brought the covers up around her shoulders.

"Aren't you hungry?" asked Soichiro, feeling too anxious to be still.

"Um … a little. But I would rather rest in your arms. Besides, I need to talk to you," said Yukino, holding her arms out to him. "Please?"

"What if I prepare something and we talk while we dine in bed?"

"Maybe later, right now I need your full attention."

"Is something wrong?" With fear in his eyes, he climbed into bed, pressing his body against hers as she welcomed him into her arms.

"Tell me what happened to you today. After that I will tell you my news."

Soichiro stared at her. News? Gods. Was she sick? He could not lose her; just the hint of such a fate always sent him into the abyss, hurtling downward through utter darkness. Tears welled as he buried his face in her neck. "Yukinon … are you ill? Are you leaving me?"

"Soichiro, please! How could I leave you after the heaven we just shared? Just tell me what set you off today," she said this imperiously, but her look was gentle as she wiped tears from his shining violet eyes. Soichiro examined her for signs of illness; actually she looked quite well … glowed even. She might have gained a little weight, and her breasts were beautifully plump and full.

"So you love me for the sex?" asked Soichiro with a smile.

"Oh, baby. I am your slave, you great, sexy beast."

"You'll pronounce me a demon."

"Never," said Yukino, firmly. "Although that would be an interesting scenario."

"I found the keepsake boxes you made for the kids. What a magnanimous gesture, Yukino; you are such an admirable mother. Thank you for caring so deeply for our children."

"I love them, Soichi. They are the result of our love, and truly I acted no differently than my own mother." She said this like it was self-evident. "You give me too much credit; there is nothing easier than loving your own children."

"Is that so?" He withdrew from her, turning on his back to stare at the ceiling.

"That came out wrong; I'm sorry Soichi. What Ryoko did to you is not a reflection of how lovable you were as a child. That woman is deeply flawed, and I am being charitable."

"But what about me?" he asked, vehemently.

"You?"

"You know what I am talking about; I am a cold, heartless father who envies his children. But I want more than anything to change."

"Seeing the boxes brought this to the fore again?"

"Yes, I was jealous and angry when I saw what you had done. At the same time I hated myself for feeling that way. I don't want to be like this anymore, Yukino. I have wasted years indulging these emotions while our children's youth disappeared. But, though I want nothing more than to be a good father, whenever I try, I see Ryoko, closing the door as I lay dying. That vision is like a hook dragging me into the past; I can't escape it."

"Did you remember something that woman did to you?" asked Yukino as she drew close to him.

"She cut me with scissors," he said, rubbing the scar on his shoulder. "She said I am a monster and that no one would ever want me. Afterward she left me alone to starve. But children played in the parking lot and I wanted to play too. So I broke my promise to stay inside and joined them, but when they saw me, Yukino, they screamed at me. 'Monster', they shouted, just like Ryoko. I ran up the stairs and looked at myself in the mirror, and by that reflection I knew they were right. My bruised, swollen, lop-sided face, my half-closed blackened eye…they had a right to be frightened."

"I'm so sorry, Soichiro. Please tell me everything you did today." Yukino pulled him back, cradling him in her arms as she kissed the raised red scar that marred his otherwise perfect skin.

Weeping, he recounted his tale, relating everything from his discovery of the keepsake boxes through his visit with Shizuni, seeing their children and phone session with Doctor Kawai.

"My love," she whispered, hugging him like a child. "You have no idea how good you are, do you?"

"How can you say that?" he said, turning on his side to look into her eyes.

"You judge yourself so harshly even as you try so hard to do the right thing. You are nothing like Ryoko or her description of you."

"I wish I could turn back the clock, Yukino. I want a second chance with our kids." His voice hinted at the desperation he felt; he'd foolishly spent time on things that had turned out to be trivialities.

"In that case, I believe I have good news." Yukino beamed at him as if she held a wish-fulfilling jewel.

"_Good _news?" asked Soichiro, surprised by the adjective.

"Yes, I'm pregnant." She seemed surrounded by light.

"Pregnant? When?"

"I think it happened that time we played investment banker and dominatrix. Remember how carried away we got with that scenario?"

"That night will keep me warm deep into my old age, but that's not what I mean. What was the date?"

"Two and half months ago – mid September."

"A child in June then – you are sure?" asked Soichiro. But he knew it was true before she answered, she glowed like a plump, succulent peach just as she had during her other pregnancies.

"Yes, you aren't disappointed? I have been afraid to tell you."

"Yukino…I'm sorry you felt that way. Please don't hide things from me like I'm a fragile child. Truthfully, I'm ecstatic. But …"

"But what?"

"Was I too rough tonight? Are you alright?" His face reddened with embarrassment as he remembered their antics.

"Never fear, we Miyazawa women are tough. Besides, you know very well I like it rough, though I can't speak for other Miyazawa women on that point."

"But the baby," he said, running his hand over her abdomen, and wondering how he hadn't noticed the roundness of her belly. "Any possibility of twins again?"

"No, it's a singleton, and we are both fine," said Yukino with a yawn. "Please, stay in bed with me tonight, Soichi."

In answer, Soichiro wrapped his arms around her as she turned her back to him, snuggling against him while he drew the covers around them. For the first time in hours he noticed the wind howling.

"What shall we name her?" asked Yukino.

"Her?"

"I'm sure it's a girl."

"Benika." The name welled up from deep within him.

"Benika?"

"Yes."

"I like it."

"Good, it's settled," said Soichiro. He buried his face in her neck, breathing her scent, in contented silence as the storm raged outside. But then, out of nowhere, a worrisome thought rose into his consciousness. "Yukino, where did you get that nurse's uniform?"

"Ms. Takizawa's mother was a nurse way back when they still dressed like that."

"Please tell me you don't have to return it." Soichiro closed his eyes tightly in fear of the answer.

"I don't have to return it."

"Are you just saying that?" He continued squinting.

"Yes."

"We'll have to get the buttons repaired," he sighed. "Otherwise Ms. Takizawa will think me a monster."

"You must stop ripping my clothes off."

"Seriously?"

"No."

"Mmmm … all this talk of ripping your clothes off …" he murmured in her ear.

"Soichiro, is that what think it is?"

"How about that demon scenario?"

"Yes, Soichi," whispered Yukino. "My dark, brooding tengu."


	6. Benzaiten's Alchemy

**Chapter Six: Benzaiten's Alchemy  
**by Ivy Rangee

Detective Soichiro Arima slipped silently from bed. He'd watched his wife sleep, having kept his promise to not abandon her on this momentous night – the commencement of his second chance. But now dawn seized the sky, and he could no longer resist his restlessness. Donning his robe, he made for the bathing room where he showered and then soaked in the tub, hoping it would relax him so he might sleep. Exhaustion should have claimed him after the romantic encounter he'd just shared with his very inventive wife – first as a policeman and then as a tengu. Oddly, the latter had not been a stretch.

He laughed at himself. The ease with which he played a tengu shouldn't surprise him; a darkness lived within him. Perhaps it had taken possession of him when, as a small boy, he lay dying, but he'd first become aware of it as a discrete entity in high school. He looked forward to repeating the demon fantasy with Yukino; something about it felt liberating. Poor Yukino, she was perfect, though it was not reciprocal; she could have done so much better than him. Whereas he rose into the light on her warmth and love, she was drawn into the depths of darkness, dragged down by his neediness and fear. She would be fine without him; he'd be in prison without her. Only tonight, the abyss had opened before him when he'd jumped to the conclusion that she suffered from a terminal illness or, worse, found another man. He growled at this evil thought. How could another man be worse than death? At least Yukino would be alive, but he knew the answer, as a double murder followed by his own suicide flashed before his mind's eye.

Divorce was not uncommon among his fellow officers, but none of them had committed murder. Why did he have to possess Yukino? And, damn it, why did she not feel the same? What gave rise to her absolute confidence in herself? Through some mysterious means she had attained wholeness. She loved him; she did not need him. But for Soichiro, without Yukino, there was only the abyss. Just the thought of being without her panicked him. Even when he was with her, he lived in fear of losing her. Was this why she found sleep, while he found only an all-consuming restlessness? No matter how much she gave, he always sought more. Obviously, Yukino maintained possession of the missing ingredient he lacked.

Rising from the tub, he finished his morning ablutions and dressed. Quietly making his way to their living quarters, he opened the drapes to survey the snow-covered city. On the roadway below, tire-tracked snow had been subdued into lumps of pale translucent mush, turning the flat gray tar to patent leather black. Restless, he made a pot of green tea, poured a cup and pulled a chair to the living room's large picture window where he sat down to watch the sunrise create rainbows through the ice prisms that hung from the lintel above. Staring into the infinite sky emptied his agitated mind and within minutes he fell into dream sleep.

Alone, Soichiro found himself at the edge of a forest in winter. Under the blinding rays of a setting sun the snow held an orange cast. But soon orange turned gray-blue as twilight rose. In the growing darkness, a ragged boy child beckoned, and he obeyed, following it into the forest. Without question, he trudged deeper into the wooded wilderness, trying to catch the little one, but it always thwarted him, flitting ever out of reach. After a while the lad disappeared completely, but Soichiro kept walking until he arrived at a frozen river.

From the other side came a voice. "You may cross; it is safe."

On the far bank, a shrouded woman stood, her long flowing hair waving in the light breeze. For reasons he did not question, he found he desperately desired her approval, and so like a moth to flame he flew to her. But as he reached the halfway point, she laughed, touching the frozen river with a long, bending willow wand. Before his eyes minute cracks spread over the glassy surface which creaked and groaned like an entity in tortured agony as it broke into pieces. In horror, Soichiro watched her wave the wand over her head, stirring the air, whipping it into a frenzy which in turn roiled the water, sending huge waves in his direction. Wavering, the ice flow he stood upon capsized, and the dark cold river swallowed him.

Lost beneath the water, Soichiro drowned; however, though blind in the darkness, calm resignation took hold. The water should have been cold, but, instead, it warmed him like a blanket while he sank deeper and deeper in dangerous waters. He wondered at the depths of the waterway and whether he should try to swim, but he had no will to fight so he drifted. After an unknown time, he saw a speck of light in the darkness – a globe of yellow light surrounded by ring of brilliant blue. It seemed to dance in the water, and he felt sorry for it; it looked so lonely. At this thought the globe stopped its cavorting, rotating as if in focused observation. Then, moving fast, it swam toward him, growing in size until he saw it was not a globe at all, but a sea nymph with flowing black hair and large yellow cat-like eyes.

The strange but lovely nymph examined him closely, her innocent eyes wide with curiosity. When she completed her investigation, she gazed at his face and slowly blinked. Utterly charmed, he smiled; she smiled back, showing sharp pearly white teeth as she shook her head. Taking his hand, she pulled him through the water on what seemed to be tour as they swam among swarms of white diaphanous jellyfish, forests of swaying kelp, and a school of darting silver sardines after which they surfaced. Surrounded by a pod of dolphin, she pulled him toward land as they entered a narrow bay. There the nymph stopped as the dolphins swirled about her; together she and the mammals of the sea sang to the lustrous, midnight sky that shown with brilliant, twinkling stars.

Thrilled by the beauty of the scene he witnessed, Soichiro felt like an explorer discovering a new and wondrous world. Never had he seen such a clear star studded sky; the sheen upon the nymph and the dolphins' skin gleamed under this remarkable light, and, as they rode the currents of the dark blue-green sea, the gleaming waves crested white with a filmy foam that shown like fine lace. The song, though chanted in an unknown language, spoke to him of an abiding bounty bound round with love and compassion. Something uniquely his – yet ungraspable. Moved deeply, he wept at the scene he beheld.

The nymph swam to him and gently touched his cheek. "It is not time."

"Please don't leave me."

"I shall wait an eternity if required." With that she waved, gliding backward as she sunk beneath the surface. Bereft, Soichiro stood alone among the dolphins who nudged him into shore where the child he'd followed earlier awaited him.

With a sense of ominous foreboding, Soichiro walked ashore; he'd encountered this battered toddler many times and the child's appearance always spelled ordeal, for the little boy demanded the best from Soichiro. Taking hold of Soichiro's somehow dry pant leg, the little one led him across the sand to a stone stairway that climbed through caves of rocky arches, rising farther and farther above sea level. As the strange pair ascended out of the cave, dark emptiness encapsulated them. The once rough hewn stairs became lustrous, lacquered black slippery tile. Soichiro knew this dark place and halted, but the toddler forced him to continue as the dark stairway both widened and elongated into infinity before them. Fearing where the stairway ended, Soichiro stared at its shiny steps; this way led to darkness and the absence of Yukino. Yet he climbed; the child next to him insisting upon it.

After a while the stairs seemed to move beneath, he stepped simply to keep his place, the black stairway stretching unending before him and behind him. Finally, after hours, the elegantly tiled stairway gave way to a set of chipped concrete steps of the sort that lead to second story walkups in shabby apartment buildings or motels. Soichiro had climbed the like hundreds of times in his duties as a police officer. These, however, seemed familiar as snow began to fall, and patches of ice crunched beneath his feet. Finally, the child stopped outside a dingy door which Soichiro did not wish to open, but the child commanded it, and Soichiro could not deny this little boy anything. Shivering, but not from cold, he turned the knob and entered a squalid apartment. As Soichiro entered, the child ran into the shadows and brought forth a cushion which he placed beneath the room's one and only window. Pointing to it, he signaled Soichiro to sit, after which the child disappeared as a scene unfolded.

A pale, thin, bedraggled boy played with empty food containers, building ever higher with them, even using a chair when he could no longer reach the top. Soichiro examined the structure; it was really quite ingenious, for the base of the boxes was narrow compared to the height of the tower, yet the child had constructed it so it would not fall under its own weight. When the boy finished he went to the cupboard, taking out a pot which he placed on his head like a helmet. Then he crossed the room and grabbed a long handled dust broom. This he placed across his shoulder as he marched like a sentry before his building. Several imaginary battles took place, but the tiny boy held the enemy at bay.

Soichiro became so engrossed in the child's play that it seemed as if his awareness had transferred so that he saw all through the boy's eyes. When suddenly the door flew open and a beautiful woman entered, Soichiro stared at her, startled. He felt the boy's adoration for her; the child thought her a queen or a princess with her long flowing hair, sweet scent and elegant clothes. He ran to her so he could show her what he'd built. Taking her dress, he tried to talk to her, but she tripped. Blaming the child she spoke harshly, slapping his little hand away as she walked to the structure, taking box after box and throwing them at him. She worked herself into a frenzy, screaming at him, as she kicked the clever construction, toppling it. Then she took the pot from his head and tossed it away after which she ripped the broom stick from his hand and hit him with it. Finally spent, she went into her room and slammed the door.

He'd heard the lock click, but still the boy ran after her, twisting the knob which refused to turn. Dejected, he stumbled to the kotatsu where he kneeled on a worn, stained cushion. Leaning on the table, he folded his hands and rested his head upon them, weeping. His little, round cheeks grew red and wet. In despair he wailed; so bitter was his disappointment. The child had done all this in honor of her who he loved. But he remained as ever deficient; she had found him wanting as usual.

The scene faded, but quickly refocused, apparently it had ended too soon. Still at the table, the child stood, wiping tears from his dirty face. Now, rage replaced remorse. He walked to the woman's door where he commenced pounding on it. When no answer came he toddled across the room, and picked up the pot, placing it defiantly on his head. Then making his way to the fallen structure, he rebuilt, muttering a string of baby curses under his breath as he did so. However, this time he stood within the structure, making it wider, thicker and more solid than before.

Once again the scene faded; and Soichiro sat in the squalid room alone. It sickened him; he had almost died in this place, deserted by her, Ryoko. Why, he wondered? What made her leave him to die? He avoided memories of this place; but what he'd seen - small Soichiro protecting himself from that cruel woman - heartened him. If what he saw described the reality of his early years then he had not been simply a victim. He'd been born with a warrior spirit which he'd focused to save himself.

Out of the darkness a harsh voice whispered. "It was not simply about love, was it?"

The shadows reassembled themselves as once again Soichiro watched the toddler. There had been an altercation; the child's hands and legs were discolored; he could clearly see the outline of purple-blue fingers marks on the boy's skin. Surveying the room, Soichiro noticed letters, numbers and pictograms in red and black covering the lower walls. The boy had copied them from magazines to begin with, but then had moved on with his own embellishments. In fact the child had been swept away within the sheer joy of drawing the story he'd told himself while he worked.

He'd been too preoccupied to notice the presence of his mother, and, when Ryoko had grabbed him by the hair, yanking him to his feet and out of his dream world, he felt ill like a diver pulled from the sea too quickly. She'd made him pay for using her lipstick and eyebrow pencil in the interest of his art. In his defense, the boy had asked for the same colored chalk he'd watched the neighbor's children draw with on the parking lot tarmac. He wanted to draw and write so badly; he'd begged her. But she refused, calling him a greedy little pig. Thus, while she lay passed out in bed, he had gotten carried away. He'd watched her apply makeup, and, being a genius, he realized he could use those tools for his artwork. Soichiro examined the child's markings closely, but before long his attention was drawn away by a new drama.

Sitting facing a corner, the child held his bruised hand; it ached with an intensity only a child can feel. Feverish, the child seethed as visions of revenge ran through his head. Soichiro had repressed this behavior entirely; he thought his child self ugly, weak and needy. He'd always believed his dark side resulted from the shame and humiliation of being the rare child that even a mother could not love. Meanwhile at the open door, the woman, his mother, stood; she wore her coat with the soft fur collar. This meant she would leave, probably for a long time, abandoning him once more. The child hated being deserted more than anything else she did to him. He feared it with all his heart, and this fear spurred his rancor. The pure hatred in the child's heart shocked Soichiro.

"Yes," said the voice. "You hated her."

When she stepped out the door the toddler panicked, abasing himself as he begged her to stay. In truth, at that moment, he despised her, but in his fear of loneliness he'd do anything to get her to stay. And thus he despised himself as well. Of course she laughed at him, slamming the door behind her. The child fell into a fiery rage fueled by his humiliation; he stumbled into her bedroom, went to her closet and ripped her beloved clothes from their hangers. Taking up her scissors, he made small cuts in her expensive silk wardrobe. Then he took her makeup and painted marks of hatred upon each piece of clothing.

Breathing hard with the effort, the little boy crossed the room to her vanity where he climbed onto the soft upholstered bench from which, he clambered onto the table's surface, knocking her combs, brushes and perfumes to the floor. His fury unabated, he set to work drawing on the mirror before which she sat admiring every detail of herself for hours on end. With the dawn, the child stopped, surveying his work.

Curious, Soichiro stood and approached the mirror, for the child blocked his view, and he sorely wanted to view what the little one had drawn. When he finally made his way through the ether of the dream, what he saw shocked him; the child had drawn a portrait of Ryoko. In fact he had caught an astonishingly accurate caricature of his mother in her true guise as a tengu.

"Did this happen?" Soichiro whispered. "I don't remember ever being able to draw this well."

"You renounced the ability in order to bury this memory," said the same voice, now right behind him.

Soichiro turned to face the being he believed had disappeared from his life. Fear coursed through him; he'd always seen his shadowed doppelganger as a sign of psychosis. People with early childhoods like his were prone to multiple personalities. However, Soichiro recalled the words of Doctor Kawai regarding the shadow figure, and forced himself to converse with this autonomous complex.

"Does that mean the faculty lies dormant within you?" asked Soichiro, gazing at his dark twin.

"Within us," corrected his terse double.

"Is that what I'm missing?

"In part."

Soichiro examined the dark figure he'd referred to as Evil Arima when still a teenager. Having aged at the same rate, Evil Arima was indeed still Soichiro's twin, though his eyes gleamed with a light resembling madness. Possessed by the desire to turn and run, Soichiro forced himself to remain rational. In truth, this shadow figure was the personification of a function that held all he'd abandoned so others would judge him good. Now it screamed for attention. If he did nothing this thing would continue to humiliate him with its outbursts during which Soichiro was held prisoner by the strange paralysis it wrought. After each incident Soichiro was left to clean up the mess, either with his family or fellow officers. It was a wonder he still had his job, for he'd gotten seriously out of control more than once, especially with accused perpetrators, beating them senseless. It was time to show compassion; if Evil Arima was psychotic it was certainly with good reason.

"Is this why she left us to die?" asked Soichiro, shivering.

"Yes." The shadowed figure stepped closer.

"You were very brave." Soichiro's voice faltered, but he stood his ground.

"So are you."

"And you were talented."

"True, but 'were' is the wrong state of being; I still am, as are you – we." Evil Arima crossed his arms and smirked. "Yes, I said we."

"That drawing of Ryoko _we_ did; how did she react?" asked Soichiro, swallowing hard. Never had he been so intimidated.

"You do not remember?"

"No."

"She went berserk," said his twin with a smile. "We scared the shit out of her; I guess she was not ready to see a portrait of her own soul."

"You don't think the horns were a bit much?" Soichiro smiled back, trying to calm himself.

"No."

"What about the fangs?"

"Fucking. Metal," said the shadowed figure. "Do not call me Evil anymore; I am not evil."

"Then why do you cause so much hurt?"

"When I want your attention, I cannot hold back."

"What do you want me to call you?"

"Call me Evel - like the daredevil, Kenievel. I am edgy, and I have guts. But that does not make me evil. If I were we would be the head of a criminal organization or on death row, given our brain."

"Agreed, I'll call you Evel. Why can't you hold back?" Soichiro asked, becoming engrossed in the dialog.

"You are ruining our life with this good boy act."

"But I'm the opposite; that is how I fight my impulses."

"You are police officer, for Gods' sake."

"I chose that work so I would stay on the straight and narrow. That is why I have avoided you."

"All your efforts to be only good have failed," said Evel, dropping his sardonic tone. "Such a goal is not possible."

"Stop!"

"Ignore me at your own peril."

"How can goodness not be possible?" demanded Soichiro.

"Let us say your definition is too narrow. In truth, you are neither a good boy nor a bad boy. You are a little bit of both. You need to give up your obsession with always needing to be in the right. It is driving everyone around you away."

Soichiro stared at Evel, shivering at the truth of his shadow's words; Soichiro excelled at putting on the face of perfection, like a classical Greek statue of Apollo. Even when in serious trouble he got away with minor reprimands; his demeanor was so intimidatingly impeccable. Who would want to hang around such a boring, seemingly faultless person? Evel's words were absolutely true; he'd have no friends if it wasn't for Yukino and Asapin. "What must I do widen my definition?"

"Stop ignoring me."

"How?"

"Meet with me like this," replied Evel, his countenance lightening slightly. "You will find that, to your detriment, you have narrowed your path in order to protect yourself. It is time to man up, Soichiro, so you may reach your goal for the sake of the children."

"What you said earlier about a natural artistic ability – may we start there?"

"You wish to resurrect our artistic bent?"

"I do."

"If that is your desire that is where we shall begin. You will find that most of what you rejected as a child has nothing whatsoever to do with good or evil."

"Evel, I must know. What exactly did Ryoko do when she returned and found her things destroyed?"

"Another time," said his shadowed other self, turning away.

"Tell me."

"We were already sick, but still, she beat the crap out of us and left us for dead. She came back a few days later to get some things we had missed; that's when she checked our breathing, and we fell, following her down the stairs."

"No, what did she do when she saw her portrait on the mirror?" asked Soichiro.

"I shall show you another time, but not this day," replied Evel, backing away.

"You have carried these memories alone for too long."

"A little longer will not burden me. Ask Reiji about the mirror." Evel bowed his head; he seemed bemused.

"Reiji saw it?"

"He did."

"What did he say?"

"His exact words – 'Sotatsu could not have gotten a better likeness'."

Soichiro actually laughed as his shadow self smirked back at him. "You understand Reiji better than I do."

"Maybe, but you will come to a better understanding as you gray, and I fade."

"Gray?" said Soichiro.

"Indeed, the in-between."

At this Soichiro woke; he leapt to his feet and grabbed a piece of paper, quickly noting down all he remembered of this remarkably lucid dream. He even drew the things he'd seen in the dream, including the childish portrait of Ryoko. When he'd completed the task, he walked to the window, finding he no longer shook with fear when contemplating his shadowed twin. Even if it possessed him he would no longer fight it; he'd simply make amends, and move on with the dialog. At that he whispered the word gray.

"Gray?" said Yukino, coming up behind him. "Oh, you mean those dark clouds. The weather channel predicts another foot or two of snow." She pressed her body against his in a tight embrace, adding, "You know, you really are a stud."

"A stud, is it?" laughed Soichiro, returning the hug. As he smiled down at her, he felt light as if gravity no longer bound him.

"A red hot tengu stud."

"Do you have to go to work today?" he asked, as an idea hatched. He would begin work immediately on changing his life.

"What would the neighbors say if I didn't go to work? And what about the hospital staff and my patients?" asked his wife, pulling away. She was clearly shocked that he would suggest such heresy.

Neither Soichiro nor Yukino ever missed a day of work for any reason. Thankfully their old friend and next door neighbor, Asapin, had a flexible schedule and willingly took on the duties of a nanny. It was Asapin who cared for Sakura and the twins when they were sick, in distress or needed advice. It was he too who showed up for their school and athletic activities, even parent-teacher meetings.

"I don't care what anyone thinks," said Soichiro, grabbing her shoulders, his eyes stern and determined. "I have three hundred sixty-five days of earned off time. I'm taking one today. I have no doubt that you have accumulated just as much. Are you with me?"

"Like when we skipped school?" asked Yukino.

"Yes."

"I'm in; it's an administrative day, so I have only a few patients. Let me call the office and see if Doctor Hijikata will cover them. He owes me one."

Letting her go, Soichiro growled as he turned away.

"Now, now, I know you dislike him, but he's my friend." Yukino followed him, taking his hand in hers.

"I don't like the way he drools when he looks at you," he grumbled. "And I don't understand why you trust him. He's a butcher."

"Just because he had that little accident when he stitched up your forehead after you were attacked by that delinquent does not make him a butcher. He's exceeding skilled with sharp things."

"He left a scar," complained Soichiro, bringing his hand to the offending mark just above his temple.

"It only adds to your mature sexiness."

"You like it?" he asked, turning to her; she pulled his hand away, admiring the manly flaw.

"Very much. Think Captain Harlock."

"About that attack, Yukinon," said Soichiro, deciding to come clean about his aberrant behavior.

"What about it?" she asked, walking to the stove.

"I was not quite as innocent as I led you to believe." He followed her with his eyes, wondering how she would react to one of his lesser sins.

"I know that; I'm not an idiot, Soichiro." Saying this Yukino filled the tea kettle with water and placed it on the stove.

"What do you mean?"

"When you get angry you're scary," said Yukino, matter-of-factly, opening the refrigerator, and staring into it. "I expect you went ballistic when that young man attacked you. Remember the time you flattened the boy from Ishiyama High, when we on our school trip to Kyoto? You only got out of that one because you'd won the Kendo title."

"Am I that predictable? Do you find me boring?"

"No." She began to unload food. "I'm starving, Soichiro. Must eat! Help me."

"Be truthful." He joined her at the kitchen counter as she opened a glass storage container full of hardboiled eggs and removed one.

"Well, maybe sometimes – but not last night," she mumbled, her mouth full.

"I meant what I said; I'm going to change, Yukino." Soichiro rinsed the rice and threw it in the cooker. "And I want to take care of our children. We rely on Asapin too much. He can help out in a pinch, but from now on I want to be the one who is there for them."

"But Soichiro, they love Asapin; we can't just pull them out of that relationship at this point. It would be cruel. Besides…" She stuffed another egg in her mouth.

"Besides what?" demanded Soichiro, taking a soup pot from a low cabinet, and placing it on the stove. He filled it with broth, turned on the heat, and took the hardboiled eggs away from Yukino, handing her an orange.

"Asapin is patient; he listens to them without judging their every word and action," declared Yukino with harsh intensity. "Plus he is the one who has put in the time."

Tightlipped with anger, Soichiro stared at his wife as she gulped down orange slices. This was the point where he would usually explode; he could see the tired dread in Yukino's eyes. No doubt, she replayed innumerable similar scenes, but he'd not ruin another romantic evening; he'd made her a promise to change and with that recollection he hesitated, choosing to distance himself for just a moment. Turning on his heels, he crossed the room to the couch where sat down, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees as he rocked, holding his forehead. Everything Yukino had said pissed him off, but she was right. Acting like a defensive jackass as he usually did when he did not want to hear the truth was not the answer. Staring at the floor, he took the time to consider what he should say.

"Yukino, when you say Asapin is patient and nonjudgmental I know you are contrasting him with me." He looked up to see Yukino was back into the eggs; she tried to interrupt, but he stopped her. "Let me finish. As I tried to explain last night, I know have mistreated Sakura, Ai and Sao. I have seen them only through the prism of my own childish attempt to be perfect. This is why I've distanced myself from them by working all the time; I know the way I am is harmful to them. Everything you have said is true, and I accept your judgment on this. I'll not insist they separate from Asapin, but I want to be more involved. I am their father. I will not force you, but I'd hoped you would help me."

Yukino sat down beside Soichiro, the container of hardboiled eggs cradled on her lap. She ran her hand gently down his back. "Thank you, Soichiro, for calmly considering my viewpoint. I would like nothing more than to help you. But there is something I must confess as well. Since you praised my mothering skills, I've been feeling guilty. You exaggerated, of course; I did the usual traditional things for our kids like those memory boxes, but I have not been there for them in any way that really counts either. Your praise made me think about my failure, and what I really want. Like you I wish to be more involved; I'm relieved you feel the same," said Yukino, her eyes brimming with tears. "I want us to raise Benika."

"All that has happened is entirely my fault," said Soichiro, brushing sticky bright yellow egg yolk from her cheek. "I have been as demanding of you as I have of the children, forcing perfection on you. All I thought about was what the Arimas would say if you did not run the hospital properly. I'm so sorry; don't cry."

"Don't be sorry," she whispered. "It's the hormones. This is not entirely your fault; we are both to blame. You know how I love running things, and showing the Arimas I could make the hospital hum like a well oiled machine thrilled me."

"Then it is agreed; we will work out a way to spend more time as a family?"

"Yes. Thirsty, Soichiro!"

"Now, about the kids, where are they?" Soichiro kissed her forehead and made his way to the kitchen, where he poured her a glass of orange juice.

"Shizuni called," replied Yukino, following him. "School has been canceled - snow day. She wants to know what we want her to do." She grabbed the glass and gulped down the contents.

"Maybe they could stay with her for the morning?" Deciding he'd better get some decent food in his wife before she got too grumpy, he cut up some vegetables, throwing them in the bubbling golden brown broth.

"Soichiro, we just pledged to spend more with our children." Yukino leaned over the pot and breathed in the tempting scent. "That smells delicious, but it needs kelp flakes."

"Just for the morning? There are plans to be made."

"I suppose - Shizuni would love that," she said, shaking the translucent green flakes into the soup.

"Then it's settled. We'll take the whole day off. Now, how we will tell them about Benika?" Soichiro steeped the tea, and then decided he'd better prepare some honeyed toast. Yukino was eyeing the hardboiled eggs again. He hoped this would not be a repeat of her egg fetish during her last pregnancy. That had been impossibly trying in so many ways, the worst of which had been the special tea she required to offset the constipation caused by her diet. Because he worked close to the herbalist shop, Soichiro had been enlisted to bring the special mixture home. He wondered if his wife understood the hit his reputation had taken with his fellow officers, for whenever the shop proprietor or his assistant delivered the package of tea to his office they would declare loudly its contents and what it treated, obviously enjoying Soichiro's embarrassment, smirking knowingly as they took his money. For six months he had suffered humiliating remarks about the nature of his bowel movements.

"I think we should tell them over a nice dinner of their favorite foods," declared Yukino, cuddling the eggs.

"What are their favorite foods?" He handed her the toast with one hand while prying the eggs from her with the other.

"Well, I've heard they love pizza," she muttered as she ate.

"They had pizza last night."

"I'll call Shizuni."

"That would be an embarrassing admission. Hell, Yukino, we don't even know our children's favorite food," said Soichiro, clearly disappointed in his ignorance and hers.

"Maybe it would be more diplomatic to ask Asapin…" Yukino stared at the container of eggs as Soichiro returned it to the refrigerator.

"Yes, and, while you're at it, find out the name of their favorite dessert." Saying this Soichiro gave her another orange. He watched her eat it in amazement; she really was voracious when with child. "And I suppose you had better invite Asapin as well; he has to find out sometime. Maybe he could…" Soichiro stopped, staring at Yukino suspiciously. "Or does he already know about Benika?"

Yukino gazed at him, biting her lower lip. "It might have slipped."

"_Seriously!_ You told Asapin before me." Soichiro stirred the soup furiously.

"I needed advice." Yukino inched her way to the refrigerator.

"Advice?" asked Soichiro, blocking the door. He opened a cabinet and took out soup and rice bowls.

"On how to tell you." She reached behind him grabbing for the refrigerator handle.

"You were afraid to tell me about the baby?" He removed her hand and gave her the bowls, as he pointed to the kotatsu.

"A little." Yukino walked to the low table and knelt, setting out the dishes.

"Please tell me you did not discuss your plans for last night with him."

"Only in the sense that we thought a romantic night alone might be the best way."

"Jeez, Yukino, I can't tell you how much that hurts," said Soichiro, his voice low.

"You can be unstable at times, and you have been moody lately. I'm so sorry I distrusted you, Soichi."

"I deserve it. But next time please give me the chance to show you I can handle things."

"Soichiro? What is going on?" asked Yukino, returning to the kitchen.

"Going on?" Soichiro feigned innocence.

"Yes, whenever it comes to Asapin you throw a fit." She made a break for the refrigerator again.

"I have treated Asapin unfairly," said Soichiro, blocking her maneuver, and diverting her with a tray of soup spoons, tea things and chopsticks. "He…he was the only support I had during my high school years and look what I did to him."

"Asapin understands the concussion you caused him was an accident, after all you were under a lot of stress at the time." Yukino marched to the kotatsu to finish setting it. Soichiro signaled her to sit down.

"But look at how we've relied on him all these years, and really, Yukino, all I do is dump on him. Why does he stick around?"

"You throw him out a lot too. Then there was that time you choked him, and that other time you tazed him."

"The tazing was an accident. And what the hell was he doing in our apartment in the middle of the night?" he asked, carrying the food to the table; he'd relented and sliced an egg for her.

"He was feeding the guinea pigs for the boys when they were at sailing camp; you know Asapin keeps strange hours." Yukino took the little flowered plate that held the egg pieces and gazed at it lovingly.

"I want to take care of the guinea pigs next time the twins are away." Soichiro took a seat adjacent to her, so he could serve her.

"Of course, dear, but the guinea pigs are long gone; now they have hamsters. Honestly, Soichi, you forgot the burial ceremony?"

"Hamsters? Are you sure?" he asked, ladling the soup.

"Yes."

"Oh. Should we feed them now?"

"No, they're fine; I checked on them this morning."

"What are their names? I want to be able to ask the boys about them."

"Sheeda and Pazu. Now, you were saying…about Asapin?"

"Yukino, you have no idea how I relied on him during my darkest days in high school," said Soichiro, filling her rice bowl. "I was so close to suicide; he understood without asking questions. It is a measure of my selfishness that I have never treated him as I should. I will try to make amends. He's like one of our family."

"I am relieved to hear you say that," said Yukino, sipping her tea thoughtfully. "I hope you will keep this in your heart no matter what the future brings. I would prefer you not spend your life in prison."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, well nothing in particular, you know, pregnancy brain. Back to the subject, once again I ask you what is going on? What has brought on this transformation?"

"This morning I had a remarkable dream." Soichiro beamed at her, the love of his life.

"Tell me." Yukino leaned close, resting her hand on his arm, waiting.


End file.
